The Kissing Dilemma
by dayuuuumgirl
Summary: Clary's life is far from perfect. She's the school bully's favorite victim, she threw up on the hottest guy on campus, and, on top of everything, her mom is dating her English teacher. So in comparison, a lead in a class play doesn't seem like the end of the world, does it? Not when the play is Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, and Romeo happens to be the very guy she threw up on!
1. Chapter 1

**The Kissing Dilemma**

**Three Months Earlier**

The one thing I do not expect to see walking early into English class is Mr. Morgenstern kissing my mother. Wrapped in each other's arms, they're oblivious to the world, engaged in a locked lip battle, almost falling out of the chair he's sitting in.

Oh. My. Motherfu – oh, God. Even saying mother makes me nauseous.

I swear I'm going to puke my guts out any second.

The door slams shut behind me, and lightning jabs them asunder, my mom pushing herself off my teacher, who scoots as far back as he can.

They both whirl around to see me.

My mother flushes a deep shade of tomato. "H-honey," she manages. "Why, I…"

Finding nothing to say, she looks at Mr. Morgenstern. He is an even darker shade of red that she is. Edging on purple, even.

"You're early," he mumbles, addressing everything in the room but me.

"That's right," my mom says, latching onto something reasonable. "I thought we had a few more minutes to…ourselves."

My breakfast almost comes up right then and there.

"I mean, I thought students tended to arrive after the bell!"

And here she's the one who taught me that the early bird gets the worm.

The urge to throw up grows even stronger, and I realize with horror that it isn't my mind deceiving me. I literally feel my breakfast roaring up my esophagus. Madly dashing for the door, I try to hold it in, rerunning the school map in my head, searching for the nearest bathroom.

Instead, my mouth opens against my will and my breakfast flies out – and lands all over someone's chest.

I look up, and this time, it's my turn to turn red. Golden eyes, silky blond hair, perfect lips, high cheekbones. Out of all days to be early, he just _has_ to choose today.

"Jace." The surprise is evident in Mr. Morgenstern's voice. "Why are you here?"

The guy takes in Mr. Morgenstern and my mother's matching tomato-painted faces, obviously realizing something is going on. Then his eyes flick down to me, and the disgust is obvious. He wrinkles his nose at the smell and pulls gingerly at his shirt.

"You told me yesterday to come in early," he grimaces. "But I think I need a change of clothing now."

Lesson learned: Never go to English class early. Ever.

…

**Chapter One**

**Present Day**

I am still at my locker when the bell rings, which isn't a surprise; this happens every day.

People rush by me, worry plastered on their faces as they thud down the halls. It is kind of stupid in my opinion. If you're already late, why bother, right?

I grab my Holt Literature textbook, slam my locker close, and head toward English class. A hundred feet from the door are the popular skanks and jocks, jostling to the door, laughing and kissing.

My eyes narrow down to one guy. Jace. He has that lazy look on his face as usual, but it doesn't fool anyone. Off on the track, he is anything but laidback. He's the quarterback of the varsity football team, the star midfielder of the varsity soccer team, the anchor of the relay team, varsity tennis player… The list stretches for miles.

He is also the guy I threw up on, which is why I always stare at him. It's definitely _not_ because he's mouthwatering hot, with those heavy-lidded gold-colored eyes (seriously, who has golden eyes?), the shock of blond hair, and those sculpted cheekbones. Not to mention the strong jaw and the broad shoulders.

Afraid he'd catch me staring, I force my eyes to wander over to one girl and watch her take one last drag of her cigarette, then stomp on it, and follow the rest of the crowd in.

I count silently to forty before heading in, slinking to my seat on the side of the classroom. Our teacher, Mr. Morgenstern, has already begun class.

He slides a sideways look at me but doesn't say anything.

I arrive late every day, yet he never marks me tardy, never tells my mother. He owes me, after all, ever since _the incident_. However, instead of apologizing and breaking up, my mom and he have become more open with their relationship. Now I constantly get unneeded glimpses of their fun times sharing spit. On top of everything, he also forces me to call him Valentine. Or Val.

I have absolutely no interest in calling him anything, especially no nicknames.

His monotone voice drones on and on about some Shakespeare shit. Bored, I open my notebook, doodling, stopping only when my ears pick up the words _Romeo and Juliet_, my favorite in-class book by far.

Something about a play…

Oh, God.

"As the project for this semester, we're going to put on a play of _Romeo and Juliet._" Valentine smiles. "It's not finalized yet, but there's a possibility we'll be preforming it for the whole school. If not, we'll definitely be doing it for the freshmen."

"Wait," Jonathan, this clueless blonde who sits diagonal behind me, interrupts. He holds up his hand. Which is useless, if he had had the brains to think about it, since he's already interrupted. "Isn't _Romeo and Juliet _for _freshmen_?"

Thank you, Captain Obvious. For repeating exactly what Valentine had just said.

"Yes," Val explains patiently. "But the facility thinks that freshmen are too immature to act out such a serious piece of literature, so they've left it on us not to botch it up.

A look of understanding passes through half of the class. I almost laugh at the juniors. The rumors about them being all smart alecks for their SATs? Bull. They can't even read between the lines: screwed up teacher gets bored with his own pathetic life and wants to mess ours up even more.

Unfortunately, it seems like me, the only sophomore in the class, can see it. And maybe Jace…currently asleep with his head on the desk.

Sadly, the reason I'm in honors 11th grade English is because my mom had declared me "precocious for my age" and forced them to put me a grade higher. It's not hard to guess how I got accepted into Valentine's English class. And why for every other subject, I have regular sophomore curriculum.

Valentine walks around the room with a basket, and everyone pulls out a piece of paper. I pray for something along the lines of "bush." Or if I'm lucky, "backstage artist." At least I could do something I like.

He stops in front of me, and, fingers crossed, I thrust my hand in, digging long and hard for the tiniest piece. He walks away, and I watch as he wacks Jace on the head, drawing several giggles from the class.

If that's me, it'd probably be snickers. Jace pulls a paper lazily out with such grace that I can't help but do what 99% of the other girls are doing: staring. The 1% who isn't is Isabelle Lightwood, his stepsister. So…duh, she isn't drooling. Unless she's interested in incest or something.

I open my paper, and then shut it quickly, groaning loudly and swearing profusely. Valentine raises an eyebrow. "Okay there, Ms. Fray? Disappointed you didn't get the lead?"

"Worse," I mumble. "I did."

Laughter bursts out outrageously from the back where the popular jocks and sluts sit. The jocks nudge each other. I feel my ears burn with embarrassment, and I sit lower in the seat.

"Eager to find out which gentleman will be Romeo?" Valentine's eyes glitter.

"I wouldn't want to be him," a nasty voice coughs. I turn around and flip Jonathan off. Bastard.

"Who's Romeo?" Valentine calls out. No one answers, and I sit taller, turning in my seat to look around the room. Everyone's head is turned, staring at Jace's upraised hand.

So that's why they were laughing. Hot, popular Jace with loser, freak me.

Jace catches my eye and grins, and the image of me puking all over him fills my vision again. I scowl back, trying to disappear in my seat. He's probably remembering and laughing at me.

"Why do we even have to put on a play anyway?" I complain, not afraid to glare at Valentine.

"Calm down, Clary," he says. "It's only a class play. It's not like it's the school play."

My mom chose a stupid man to love. "Uh, yeah, but we're putting it on for the _whole_ school."

"Do you want your 4.0 GPA or not?"

That shuts me up pretty fast.

And I hate him even more when the juniors all start laughing.

Freaking faggots.

I am really starting to hate being "precocious."

Precocious my ass.

…

Valentine drops me off in front of my house at six. One of the perks of having your parent date your teacher: you get a free ride home. But as usual, a pro comes with a con: staying at school until he's done with his work.

After thanking him stiffly, I stalk up the path to the house, bang open the front door, and storm to my room, letting my heavy backpack hit the hardwood floor with a thud.

"Clary! The floor!" Mom screeches from the kitchen.

"Oops!" I yell back.

"Yeah, right!" She retorts. What a high maturity level. "Come help me set the table."

I trudge to the kitchen and grab two plates. She scoops out a portion of the rice, and Chinese-style chicken and vegetables onto each while I pour water for myself and red wine for my mom.

"So how was school?" She asks to make conversation.

"Bad."

A concerned look. "How so? Your grades are still all A's right?"

I stuff a forkful of chicken in my mouth. "Our friend Valentine threatened me."

Mom had been reaching for her wine, and now it freezes halfway to her lips. "Clary!" She admonishs.

"He did! We were assigned parts to a play that I didn't want to do, and he threatened to fail me."

"At least that's more reasonable." Mom sips the red wine. "What play?"  
I stab the beans. "Romeo and Juliet_._"

"Honey, that's great!" She smiles. At least someone's happy. "Who are you?"

"Juliet." I focus on releasing my anger through chewing.

Mom's eyes twinkle. "And Mr. Romeo is…?"

Only the hottest guy in our school.

I drink a long gulp of water, uselessly trying to delay answering. "No one special."

Abruptly, I stand, ending our conversation, and dump my dishes in the sink. Discussing Jace or _Romeo and Juliet_ is the last thing on my list.

In fact, it lands right next to cleaning the bathroom.

**The writing style's a bit different from what I normally write…don't know if I like it or not, thought. Characters have obviously different personalities than Cassandra Clare's, except maybe a few…like Jace. :D Because we all love Jace exactly as he is. **

**Clary's sarcastic in this story! **

**:) Review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**WOW…so many reviews!((((: hahaha they made me so happy I was able to write the second chapter super quickly. And yes, I have read Romeo and Juliet. It was required for school last year. We watched the 1968 version, and god…Romeo was hot. ;D**

**Chapter Two**

"Here are your roles," Valentine says, passing packets around. He dumps the thickest one on my desk. I feel like crying.

Life can really be a bitch sometimes.

While everyone flips through theirs, I slump lower in my chair and pull my hoodie over my head, hating my life.

"A tiny suggestion," Val's voice floats past the barriers of my mind, "you guys can work together to make it easier."

Work together my ass. This packet is going in the trashcan as soon as I get home.

Someone plops down in front of me. I don't bother looking up.

"Might as well get this shit over with," a voice sighs, making my face heat up. Good thing the hoodie's still covering my face.

Puke and vomit fill my vision.

"Yo, Sophomore, you alive in there? I'm talking to you."

"Go away."

"To go or not to go, that is the question."

Against my will, a smile curves my lips. I tip my head back to let the hood fall off. "Go study with your snotty friends back there."

Jace glances at them. "I wish. They all have something like backstage artist, technician, tree, voice over, or something along those lines."

Voiceover…

"Hey," I straighten, brightening. "If there's voiceovers, then we don't need to memorize this!" I smile, but it isn't directed at him.

"You need to memorize the lines," Valentine deadpans, glaring at us from his seat.

"Damn," I mutter at the same time as Jace.

We stare at each other for a moment, sizing each other up. His eyes are so, so gold that I break away first and catching Seelie's eye.

Seelie Queen. Blond, petite, pretty. Just like what someone would imagine a faerie to look like.

I'm not at all surprised when she glares at me. From what I've heard from the school grapevine, she holds the record for dating Jace the longest: four months and counting. Who knows how much longer they'll last?

She is, as usual, dressed in lingerie. Well, close enough. Her shirt is cut so low that her boobs are practically hanging out, and the back is a transparent lacy cloth, so everyone can appreciate her black, lacy bra. Lace, lace, lace. I bet her panties are lacy too.

Apparently, that's what Jace likes. At least with my long sweatshirt and ankle-length jeans, Seelie has no reason to feel threatened by me.

Jace thumbs his packet, oblivious to his girlfriend's burning stare, and leans over. I freeze.

The first thought: Oh, my God. He is so close.

The second: Seelie is going to butcher me alive.

The third: He smells like mint and something spicy.

But all he does is take my packet and compare it to his. He makes a face. "My packet's bigger than yours."

"OMG."

He flashes an irritated look. "Whatever Sophomore," he says, giving Sophomore a nasty twist with his tongue. The nerve! "Every girl would probably die to be in your place right now."

I glare resentfully. My, my. This play is going to go so far. "Every girl but me. I hate this. I hate that you're Romeo, and I know what everyone else is thinking. And once we perform it, I might as well be dead."

Because _Romeo and Juliet _is a love story, which means I have to kiss you.

"I'm glad I'm Romeo," Jace says as expected.

I roll my eyes. "So all the girls can drool over you."

He doesn't even bother to swipe off that delicious smirk. "And I'm glad you're Juliet."

Wait _what_?

I stare at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing if I even heard him correctly.

The corners of Jace's eyes crinkle although his mouth never tips up. "So we can talk about that shirt you owe me, after you, y'know, _ruined_ my other one."

A moment of shocked silence.

"You bastard!" I yell at his retreating back. His shoulders are shaking with laughter.

The class grows quiet, and, as I glance around, blood pours to my cheeks. My face is probably as red as my hair.

"Clarissa! Speak with me after class!" Valentine's eyes blaze.

Oops.

Jace hoots with laughter.

I scowl reproachfully.

The definition of English class: a pain in the ass.

…

I'm in a pretty crappy mood as I trudge out of class after getting a good asswhipping from Valentine. Or mouthwhipping. Ugh, freakin –

My shoulder collides painfully with the wall in a loud slap, and I find myself snarling into the face of Seelie. Too bad we're both short, or else I would spit upward into her face, or knee her painfully you-know-where. Not as effective as it is on a guy, but still.

"Listen freak," she huffs. Her breath smells like peppermint. "Jace is mine. Go suck someone else's dick."

I seriously should have expected this. "Fuck off, Seelie."

Her eyes narrow to slits. If any guy can see her right now, I can win a Miss America.

"You don't want to mess with upperclassmen."

I push her aside. "Oops. Just did."

**Badassed Clary :D**

**Chapter 3 has a bit more action. I'm just laying the groundwork right now.**

**It doesn't take long to review, but it really makes my day(:**


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow, again I am amazed at the support! Thanks to all my readers, but eternal love to all my reviewers!333**

**Chapter Three**

The lunch bell rings as I swallow the last bite of my sandwich and dump the rest of my lunch in the trash. Aline joins me a second later, snagging a bag of chips from a random student. He turns to scowl, sees her flirty smile, and blushes.

"You have _got_ to stop doing that." I shake my head.

She grins, popping the bag open and grabbing a handful of the Lays chips, and bumps my hip playfully. "Jealous?"

"You wish."

As we walk down the hall to our fifth period, Chem, she jabbers about how Raphael doesn't even the obvious moves she's making.

"That's because he's too bookish," I say.

"Yeah, but he's so cute…" she trails off, uncharacteristically quiet. I know what that means in an instant. _He_ is near.

Every single time she catches sight of him, she'd become silent, staring lovestruckly at him.

I chance a look around and see him, surrounded by his soccer buddies. Damn, they are loud.

And hot.

But still loud.

And, as usual, a dozen girls sneak furtive peeks at them.

Oh, snap. He's heading this way.

Head low, and maybe he won't see me. Or maybe he would, and just ignore me.

Twenty feet. Ten feet.

He is going to ignore me, like all upperclassmen ignore underclassmen. Standard high school protocol.

He brushes by like I'm invisible.

I let out a breath I don't even realize I am holding. There's a feeling of something heavy I don't understand inside of me.

…

"Kuh-laryy," a nasty voice sings. I stiffen. I hate that voice. "Watch out! Your hair's on fire!"

My scream echoes off the empty halls as ice cold water drenches me from head to toe. A familiar rat-faced boy stands behind me, a smirk on his face.

"Oops," Simon laughs, faking innocence. "Your hair is naturally red, my bad."

"You fucking bastard!" I lunge for him.

He easily jumps out of my reach, kicking the empty bucket sideways. "Whatcha gonna do? Punch me? I'm _so_ scared. Mommy!"

My throat burns. He has made fun of my hair before, but never this.

Silver laughter echoes down the hall. Someone's in the shadows, watching this whole exchange. Red hot blood pounds in my hearing.

From a flash of her ring, I know instantly who it is. Seelie Queen.

Simon saunters away from me, towards her. The fire in my throat rises to a roaring pain, and in a few seconds, I know the tears will start coming. Quickly flipping up my dripping hood, I seek refuge in the empty bathroom. No one would come in at this time, except maybe detention students and sport athletes.

I curl into a ball in the last stall, swallowing thickly and gulping for air. But in the end, I still tremble and succumb to the tears. I shiver, feeling the cold water seep into my skin.

And then, out of all things, I fall asleep in the bathroom stall.

…

"Dayuuuuuuuuuuuum!"

Loud voices jerk me awake. For a moment I panic, and then I remember distinctly what had happened.

"This bathroom is clean!"

"Lucky for us the boys' locker room is locked."

"This is so weird. There's no urinals. Where do we pee?"

"In the sinks!"

The group laughs. Stall doors slam, and the sound of piss vibrate off the walls.

Ew. I am _not_ going to throw up again.

"I get the biggest one!" Someone hollers. Groans follow.

"That's cause you make the biggest mess," a different voice says, which draws whoops of laughter.

The weird clickity clack of soccer cleats thud closer and closer. And then I realize…

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshit.

_I'm_ in the biggest stall. Holy shit.

The door yanks open, and the guy balks. Already embarrassed enough, I don't turn to see who it is.

"What the – _Clary_?"

Fuck. My. Life.

I glare at Jace through the wet strands of my hair. In truth, I feel like throwing myself at my bed and crying into my pillow.

"Wayland, what's wrong?" Guys appear behind him, and their eyes widen in laughter and astonishment. A few of them actually snicker.

Bastards. My throat closes again.

"Nice catch," one of them, with dyed black hair, jokes, bumping Jace's shoulder.

"Did you fall in the toilet or something?" Jace asks, walking over to offer a hand.

Glowering, I ignore it, peel myself off the puddle on the floor and stalk out the bathroom.

My new label: Freak.

The rumors are already running through my head.

I don't bother waiting for Valentine to get off work. The ground feels solid and hard beneath my pumping legs, and it helps to keep me anchored to the world when everything inside me falls apart. Hot, humiliated tears roll down my cheeks.

I don't want anyone seeing me bullied. Least of all Jace.

**Aww): Bullying sucks.**

**Feel free to rage at me for turning Simon from a loyal, sweet friend into a monster. But remember, I did say that many characters were gonna be out of character. And in my previous stories, Simon was the nice best buddy!**

**All reviews appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow guys…75 reviews and only 3 chapters? YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING! **

**Some clarification: Seelie Queen is a character in the story, like Aline and Kaelie. She plays the mean bitchy girl. She's not a faerie; this isn't a Shadowhunter story. **

**An upload this week, in honor of school starting! But gosh, so much HOMEWORKKKKKKKKK ALREADDDYYYY):**

**Chapter Four**

I slink into English like a black shadow, my brother Sebastian's overly large black hoodie pulled low over my eyes. And hair.

Besides another old rock band t-shirt, the hoodie is his only piece of clothing left after he went off to college, leaving Mom and I alone, leaving Valentine an open chance to pounce. I miss him. He would have chopped off Valentine's dick as soon as he got within a fifty meter radius from Mom.

Still unbelievably humiliated from Friday's bathroom incident, I drop my head on my desk, ignoring everything.

Stupid English. Stupid Seelie. Stupid Jace.

Other people goof around, and barely anyone is practicing their lines, painting, or doing what other crap there is.

I have a feeling my packet is feeling right at home – in the trashcan. Maybe even on its way to the dumpster, where it will be shredded, and ripped, and mangled beyond repair.

The thought makes me smile.

"Hey, Toilet, are you dead in there?"

The smile disappears in a millisecond, replaced by the burn of tears behind my eyes. I want to shout at him, but my throat closes up, just like what usually happens whenever I get angry or sad. Most of the time I end up cussing the bastards out in my head.

But Toilet?

It hurt. I never knew Jace could be so mean.

When I don't respond, Jace probes my unmoving head, still on the desk. "Seriously, Toilet, you've got to stop this game of ignoring me. It's getting lame."

Go away tears. Go away.

"Okay, look," he tries again. "I know that was mean – "

"Oh really?" I snap.

" – but I won't say it again. Don't be mad."

Not even an apology. What an asshole.

"I'm not failing this class because of you."

That did it. "Well," I say honey-sweet, "it looks like that's where it's gonna end up anyway, because I threw my damn script away."

The incredulous disbelief in Jace's eyes draws a snarky smile from me. Cruelty has never felt so good.

He looks at me like I'm crazy, like I'm a bitch, but who cares? I sure as hell don't.

Well, kind of.

"It's a good thing I came over yesterday," a deeper voice says behind me. Valentine drops a packet that looks suspiciously similar to the one that's supposed to be in the trashcan at home.

Oh. My. God.

Valentine glares down at me with his busy eyebrows dawn together into an ugly frown. "I'm _extremely_ disappointed in you, Clarissa." A tiny shiver runs through me. He must have been about-to-blow-up-mad if he used my full name. "I cannot describe how I felt when I found your script in the trash with the other shredded math homework assignments. One more misdemeanor and I will have to begin marking all your tardies and report this to your mother."

He stalks off.

The urge to spit in his face is overwhelming, but I restrain the impulse. The last thing that I want is for my mom to find out about my actions. It would be Goodbye Life and Hello Hell.

Still, I can't help but mutter, "At least I threw it in the recycling."

Valentine stiffens all over and takes a deep breath, probably counting silently to ten to prevent his head from exploding off, like the Mount St. Helens explosion.

I find Jace looking queerly at me, not smiling, yet amusement clearly in his eyes.

"You…" He shakes his head. "You've got guts to talk back like that. I'm surprised he didn't send you to the office."

I laugh dryly. "Oh, believe me, Val can't do anything like that to me."

"Not to mention calling him nicknames. Is there something between you and him? And wait, did he just say he was at your _house_?" Jace raises his eyebrows suggestively, drawing more attention to his eyes.

So pretty…

_Whoa. Wait. What did he just say?_

I choke. "Me…and Valentine?"

Jace shrugs. "Sure seems like it."

"That is so disgusting! He's, like, almost more than triple my age!"

"People are weird," Jace says. "Like that old Playboy owner dude and his twenty-year old fiancé who ran away. Anyway, teach me how to get away with stuff like that."

If you have a hot, widowed mother, sure. Take him for all I care.

"I thought the all-mighty Jace Wayland could get away with anything," I gasp sarcastically. "Now he's begging for my lowly help? Has the sun risen from the west today?"

He grins. "I'm good. But you're even better."

I roll my eyes. "Sweet talking won't work on me. But whatever, I'll let you in on the secret." He leans in. "Use feminine seduction. Or in your case, I guess you can try to turn him gay."

Jace stares at me.

I break out into grin. "Kidding! I'm not a whore."

"Couldn't be certain," he says, making my eyes narrow. He holds up both hands, palms to me, defensive. "Hey, just a joke. You need to chill, Sophomore."

"Where's Seelie?" I realize suddenly. Jesus, I will be burned alive if she sees me with him.

Jace looks at me queerly, letting me off the hook for the sudden topic change. "I don't know. Absent, in the bathroom, in the office? She's not a dog I have a leash on."

"Couldn't be certain," I say gravely. "She sure has you collared."

Jace shakes his head, grinning. "Listen, Sophomore. _No one_, especially not any girl,can ever have me collared."

**Well, maybe Clary can manage to get Jace collared?(;**

**I know it's starting out slow, but I need to build the foundation before things start picking up. Please stick with me? Because I promise, it'll get really good. Everything's planned out.**

**I procrastinated on homework to write this, so please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**It's great when you guys follow and favorite, but it'd be awesome if you could add a short review too**

**Chapter Five**

The mirror hangs above the sink, splattered with toothpaste and smeared with water.

I stare at my reflection, winding a curl around my finger.

_Your hair's on fire._

The glistening, angry strand glares back at me.

_Toilet._

I rub my fingers over it, and then open the box of brown hair die.

…

Lips pursed, head held high, I walk into English. As usual, Valentine slides me a glare. He pauses momentarily in his speech, stares at me for a second longer than usual, and then regains his composure.

I raise my eyebrows. It's not like I dyed my hair green or something. Just brown. The color's rather dull for my taste.

"We're going to start with Act 1 Scene 1 today. That would be Prince, Benvolio, Tybalt, Abram, Montagues, Capulets, Gregory and Sampson. Romeo, you're up as well, but later. The rest of you can either watch, work on your own acts, or work on the backdrops, props, and costumes," Valentine says.

Holy hell. Costume makers?

Now I'm actually feeling lucky to get Juliet.

"Although for those of you making costumes, I would consider putting the actual stitching and cutting part off until tomorrow when Ms. Blackthorn comes in to help assist you," he continues.

Read between the lines: She will make the costumes for you. Lucky bastards.

"Alright crew!" Valentine claps his hands together. "Let's get started."

There's the momentary grumble as people shuffle into position and flip open their packets. Luke, who I assume is Sampson, begins droning in a monotone. "_Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals._"

"_No, for then we should be colliers,_" Jordan, playing Gregory, mumbles.

"_I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw._"

They go on like this for a few minutes, squinting at the paper and speaking incoherently.

Luke/Gregory says,"_'Tis true, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall – _"

"Stop," Valentine pinches the bridge of his nose. "You guys need more emotion."

I cheer as Luke throws down his packet. "I don't even understand what the hell Shakespeare's saying!" He runs a hand through his brown hair, falling in strands across his forehead. "It's just a bunch of crap smeared into one lousy run-on sentence."

"Actually," Jace calls out from across the room where he's flirting with Seelie, "Sampson's saying that women are weak, and that he'll push them up against the wall, preferably with his body, of course, while pushing Montague's men away."

"Basically, you rape them," I add.

"Sweet!" Luke whistles.

The class erupts in laughter, and even Valentine musters an amused smile. "See," he says, "Shakespeare's not that bad, after you understand what he's saying."

"The biggest pervert ever," I say. "King of dirty jokes. Not that bad my ass."

Jace grins at me, but I don't dare return the smile. Seelie's eyes all but shoot daggers.

Luke picks up his script and the class returns to practicing with renewed enthusiasm and interest.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I see Jonathan, pointing at the back of the room where Scott waves to me, beckoning me over. Tall, with curly brown hair, Scott's actual name is Woosley Scoot, but his first name is so embarrassing he prefers his last name. He's also a pervert.

"Hey, Woosley," I tease, walking over.

His nose crinkles. "God. You know I hate it when you call me that."

I ignore this. "So, what do you want?"

"Just to get your measurements," he holds us a roll of measuring tape. "I'm part of the costume committee."

With no choice but to obediently hold my arms up, I allow him to take measurments. "Can you even cut in a straight line?"

He shrugs, his mouth twisting in a nasty smirk as he scribbles down my height – 5'2".

"I'm five-three, actually," I protest. "Five-two and a half rounds up to five three, math genius."

"Sorry little Shrimp," he says, wrapping the tape around my waist, "The measurements said five-two."

His hand behind me clenches the tape, and then his other hand slides lower, onto my butt.

"Hey!" I plant my hands on his chest and push. "Watch it!"

His cheeks turn crimson. "Whoa, calm down Shrimp. I'm just trying to do my job."

"And that includes coping a feel?"

He laughs cruelly. "Is there even anything _to _feel?"

Red-hot embarrassment runs through me, because what he said is true. So true.

A hand clamps down on Scott's shoulder. "I'll take it from here."

I peer up into the eyes of Isabelle. Scott, seemingly amazed by her hand on his shoulder, stares.

"Hello?" She snaps and flicks his head. "Anyone in there?"

"Sorry," Scott mumbles, still staring as he backs away.

"I'm guessing you don't talk to him often?" I ask when she turns back to me.

Isabelle briskly records my measurements, business-like and cold. "Never." She stands up from kneeling, and tucking the clipboard under her arm, brushes off her jeans, about to go.

I envy her so much. Her long legs, glossy black hair, piercing, dark eyes. "Why did you – "

"I saw him handling you poorly," she interrupts with her perfect, lip-glossed lips. "I hate guys who treat girls like shit." She stares at me for a second, tips her head to the side, and narrows her eyes. "You look different."

I tuck my hair behind my ears self-consciously. "Yeah, I dyed my hair."

Isabelle looks surprised, then bored again. "Right. From…blond to brown?"

"Red. Red to brown."

She shrugs, and then whirls around and walks away.

"Thanks," I call. She doesn't turn around.

My fingers brush my hair after she's gone. Did no one notice? Had no one even noticed that I had red hair?

What a waste of money.

"I noticed," a snarky voice says behind me. Seelie sidles up to me, amazingly without Jace by her side.

I raise an eyebrow. How had she known my thoughts?

"I saw your face," she explains, reading my mind _again_. Creepy. "And then I threw up." Winking, she nods her head at the trashcan.

I swerve, searching for Jace. He was so dead for telling Seelie about _the incident_.

"Where's your other half?" I ask.

"In the bathroom."

My eyebrows fly up, mocking suspicion. "Screwing another girl?"

Seelie rolls her eyes. "Please. With me around? No one else even comes close to comparing. Anyway," she flips her hair over her shoulder. "I just came over to congratulate you on dying your hair. At least we're getting a bit more realistic here. Shakespeare probably didn't have a redhead in mind for Juliet or else he would have named her Dorothy."

She slips away as Jace walks in the door.

"Wait," I say, unable to stop my mouth. "Did Jace tell you I threw up on him?"

As soon as the words slip, I know I've made a huge mistake. Seelie's eyes bulge, and she bursts out into laughter. It's enough to convince me that she hadn't known, and that it had just been one huge shitty coincidence.

"You…you threw up…on Jace..?" She gasps out, clutching her stomach. "You're..such a …freak!"

The familiar choking begins at the back of my throat and my eyes sting.

Oh no. I can't cry here, especially not in front of Seelie.

The situation worsens when Jace saunters over and places a hand on Seelie's bared waist. "You okay, babe?"

Seelie clutches Jace's shirt, plastering herself against him. It's all for show. To rub it in my face. "Jace, she –" giggle, giggle "– threw up on you?"

Jace's eyes lock on mine. Staring into them makes me feel like I'm free falling, drowning, sinking into gold. "You told her?" He asks, surprised.

"I –" I'm going to cry. "I –"

I stalk out of the room, barely holding in the tears.

Someone kill me now.

…

By the time I slip into class again, no evidence of a few leaky tears remains. I slink into my seat, adopt my characteristic _English-is-a-pain-in-the-ass_ expression, and pull my backpack to the desk.

"Hey."

I turn slightly and gulp when it's Jace, standing at my elbow. He reaches down and takes one of my curls in his hand, mulling over it. "Your hair."

"What," I say defensively, crossing my arms, unable to look at him.

We watch in silence as he wounds my hair around his finger, before letting it go. A rush of something warm flows through me. His eyes flick down to mine, unreadable.

Why would he comment on my hair? Had he noticed?

"Nothing." He shrugs his backpack over his shoulder as the bell rings and walks out of the room, leaving me staring at his back, confused, flushed, and somewhat disappointed.

**School's hella busy. My new math teacher is a dick. Review. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry for the late update…school is killing me):**

**Chapter 6**

The grass tickles my bare feet. Aline and I sit in the park, her on her stomach, knees bent and feet wiggling, me with my sketchbook propped on my legs, drawing the nearby tree.

Down the field, some soccer players kick the ball around.

"Don't you think he's dreamy?" Aline sighs, propping her chin in one hand.

Without looking, I already know who she's talking about. Jace. I saw him as soon as we had arrived.

"In your wet dreams, maybe."

She yanks grass and throws them all over me. "Seriously. Just look at him. Athletic, tall, one hell of a body. His eyes."

"Okay, fine," I relent. "So maybe a little."

_Or a lot._

"How coincidental of us to show up exactly where he is though," I say sharply. Aline had spent the whole sixth period begging me to go to the park afterschool.

She spares me a quick glance before ogling once more. "Are you implying something?"

"Of course not," I laugh. "It's not like I don't enjoy the view either."

"Aha!" She springs up, pointing a finger at me. "So you do think he's hot."

"I meant the scenery. The tree I'm drawing."

"Sure you did," she says with an impish grin. "Sure."

I flash her an irritated grin and then turn back to my drawing, frowning. Something's not right. The branches stick out at odd, unnatural angles, but the tree in reality is exactly the same. Frustration building, I erase a better half of it and try again.

…

The ball hits my hand, and the pencil jabs into the paper, leaving behind an ugly black line right in the middle. A rush of anger spikes through me. A perfectly fine drawing – ruined!

Seconds later, feet rush up and someone grabs the soccer ball. "Whoa. Hey."

I stare up into Jace's face.

"Fancy seeing you here," he says, panting slightly. Sweat glistens on his forehead and his cheeks are flushed from running.

I shoot a glare at Aline, who's sitting stalk-straight, her eyes wide, darting between me and Jace. Her fault we ended up here. Now he thinks I have a creepy obsession stalking him.

"Real funny," I snap, ripping out the ruined picture angrily.

He grabs it. "Wow, Sophomore, this is hella good."

"Thanks," I say in a snarky tone. It would have been better if he hadn't ruined it.

"I'm serious," says Jace. "You're amazing."

"I know. That's why I get paid $60 per piece."

His eyebrows fly up. "Holy shit. Seriously?"

"No. Are you stupid? Do I look like Picasso?"

My stomach turns into pudding as Jace lifts up the hem of his shirt and tucks the drawing into the waistband of his shorts. My throat dries when I briefly see hard, toned muscle and his blue, checkered boxers. "Picasso, just for the record, sells for millions." He jogs off. "Later, Juliet!"

I'm still trying to process this insult, not to mention the image of his toned body searing into my mind, when Aline pounces on me. "Oh. My. God. Clary Fray, he talked to you! He called you nicknames! _When did this happen_?"

"When I got sent to hell," I grumble, after swallowing repeatedly to clear the dryness from my throat. "Valentine came up with the idea of a _Romeo and Juliet_ play, and I got paired up with Juliet and Mr. Hot-shot over there got Romeo."

"_YOU ARE SO LUCKY_!"

"Oh, joy."

Aline grabs my shoulders, and, nails digging in with excitement, shakes me. My head bobbles like one of those bobblehead toys. The trees become a blur of green and brown. "What's wrong with you? Why aren't you hyperventilating? He took your drawing and kept it! He put it to close proximity to his…" She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"EWWW, ALINE PENHALLOW." I push away, appalled. "THAT IS SO DISGUSTING."

But before I can shout any further, my phone buzzes. Text, from Mom.

_Dinner 7. Formal._

Which can only mean one thing. Valentine.

"Oh, boy," I say, flashing the screen at Aline.

"Fun." She pats my shoulder sympathetically. It's obvious her mind's still occupied with the past five minutes. "But still, _Jace Wayland?_"

…

The dress itches like hell. Something on the back of it keeps jabbing into my spine whenever I try to lean back, so instead of the usual slouch, I'm sitting straight for once. Mom smiles approvingly at me.

She has no idea.

The fish on my plate sits untouched while Mom and Valentine's plates are almost half empty. The most I do is poke – more like stab, actually – at the mint leaves on the side. My appetite vanished long ago when the lovebirds began making goggly-eyes at each other.

The stuff they say…

It's a miracle I've survived for so long.

Mom's saying something about the quality of the food here. Praising it like it's the best restaurant in the world.

It _is_ a fairly decent place. The chandelier's sparkling above, the waiters are all ultra-polite, providing the utmost service, and the live quartet's playing some sappy Titanic love song, which I would have loved anywhere but here.

It sets the perfect environment for Mom and Valentine to become even more enamored with each other. I'm surprised they're not pushing each other halfway across the table already.

Just when the tiniest spark of nausea appears, something catches my eye. An obviously rich family swishes through the door. Two parents, tall and regal, step daintily to an empty table and snap their fingers, and waiters trip head over heels to accommodate them. Behind them, however, stands Isabelle with her hand clamped around the elbow of some tall guy.

Her gaze lands on me and a flash of recognition lights up her dark eyes, but before I can wave, her eyes slide away.

Wow. Typical.

But of course, who did I think I was? Just because she talked to me for a second in class didn't mean anything.

She would have followed her parents, had Valentine not hailed her over. "Isabelle!"

Her eyes shift from me to him, narrowing. Wondering what I'm doing with him.

Terrific.

Isabelle stalks over, dragging the guy, probably her boyfriend, with her. "Hi, Mr. Morgenstern," she says. "You remember Alec? He had you last year."

"Right, right!" Valentine smiles broadly, obviously not remembering Alec but hiding it well. "You're a…senior now, right?"

Alec nods.

"Well, do you have any idea which school you'll be going to?"

"I got accepted into Cornell," he says proudly. "Going to play some soccer there."

"Congratulations," Valentine says. "Where's Jace?"

I tense. "Jace?"

Oh right. He was her adopted brother.

Isabelle slides me a curious glance and I silently curse my big mouth. "He's busy with some soccer training drills with the coach. He didn't want to come out tonight, since, you know, with all the big schools coming soon to scout for new players. "

"I'm here because I'm already graduating soon," Alec says.

He looks around our table, to me, and gets a slightly confused expression as he stares at me. I have to admit, he's something of a looker. Tall, dark, handsome. He matches well with Isabelle.

Suddenly he grins. "Oh! I know you. You're the one from – "

Isabelle cuts him off, probably annoyed at him for not paying attention to her. "That's Clary," she says shortly, and, with a quick nod to us, drags him off. He's laughing.

Weird. Why would he be laughing? I've never seen him before in my life.

"Is she your classmate, Clary?" Mom asks, sticking a fork of chicken in her mouth.

"Yeah," I reply, absentmindedly. Isabelle and her boyfriend sit with their backs to me, but Alec keeps turning around to wink at me. His blue eyes slide openly up my body and he makes a phone by his ear.

_Call me._

I flush, averting my eyes quickly.

Who is he? And why isn't Isabelle even controlling him? Did she just allow that? For her boyfriend to flirt openly with other girls?

"Cornell," Valentine muses, munching away on his dish. "I wonder where our Clary will go."

I choke on an icecube and it burns the whole way down. "Since when was I your Clary?"

"_Clarissa Fray,_" Mom snaps sharply.

I glare at the dead fish resentfully. I am not anyone's anything.

"Wait," I start suddenly. "Did you say he was going to Cornell?"

Valentine looks at me, amused. His eyes reflect no hurt feelings or animosity towards my previous comment. Mom's still pissed. "Yes," he says. "He said he was going there to play soccer."

_Soccer._

The word rings in my head like the alarm clock that blasts me awake every morning.

He was a soccer player. Jace was a soccer player. Jace had seen me in the bathroom with his team. Which only meant that Alec had too.

So that's why he was laughing.

Humiliation burns through me again and for the rest of the night, I don't speak a single word. And I definitely don't look towards the Lightwood table again.

**So Alec and Isabelle aren't going out. They're siblings. Only Clary doesn't know that.**

**Teaser for ch7(which, so far, is my favorite chapter):**

I'm the last person who should be saying that, in that sarcastic tone.

"Jace, I…"

But he only grins, standing up to go back to Seelie. "Don't worry about it. Just remember: I'm coming back to collect, so don't think I did it out of the pure goodness of my heart."

Oh, no.

**Review…please?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Read if you want to find out why I'm updating so slowly.**

**First I got a lot of Alec backlash. Not unexpected though LOL. I love Alec too. Thank you to those who kept in mind that many characters are OOC (some extremely OOC – out of character) And, as always, I love hearing feedback of all types, so don't be shy to bash on some characters. Just not my writing, thanks.**

**Also, many of you for some reason think that I could be dropping this story. Just to reassure: I PROMISE I WILL NOT LEAVE THIS STORY HANGING. I promise. I like writing this story and this version of Clary. Maybe you guys think that it's because I'm updating so slowly…?**

**There's two reasons why that's happening. First, stories are generally easier to write in the beginnings. There's no major action, and you can play around with the characters and crap. But as the story progresses, it takes longer and longer to write (for me at least) because there's more action. More things I want to write, and it all has to fit in one chapter because it doesn't feel right if I cut it in two. **

**The second reason is because of school. When I first started The Kissing Dilemma, it was towards the beginning of the school year, when I didn't have a shitload of homework and tests and other stuff to study and do. I also like to write chapters beforehand and have about 2 or 3 chapters piled up, unpublished, before I publish one, because this way, if I ever run into a crisis, like writers block, I still have chapters I can upload for you to read! So for example, I'm working on chapter 11 right now, although I'm only updating chapter 7. I'm doing this because for my last story, I had a short period of disinterest in writing Infect My Heart, and it took me months to update): I don't want to put you readers in such a long period of waiting. **

**I will most likely be updating around once a month now, although this next one will be different. I'll be updating chapter 8 on Christmas Eve(or around then) as a Christmas present for you guys!(: **

**That being said, enjoy!**

**Warning: Language.**

**Chapter Seven**

I hear the first whisper while passing the third floor bathroom.

"Tramp."

It's hard to ignore, but I clench my fists and do my best to keep my temper. Keep walking. One foot after another. Stare straight ahead. Don't react.

"Strumpet."

This time I'm at the water fountain, filling up my water bottle. I'm almost at the lockers, thinking that I've successfully endured his bullying when I hear it a third time.

"Whore."

Slowly, I spin on my heel to face Simon. "Is that really the best you can do, Four Eyes?"

Okay, not by best line. But as some passing people snicker, I suddenly become more courageous and reckless. Something within me snaps. I hate him so much.

"Like, seriously?" I laugh. "Strumpet? Tramp? Are we in the sixteenth century or something? Ever heard of the word slut?"

Simon's eyes narrow behind his glasses as he takes a step forward, slowly sipping from the can of orange Fanta in his hand. Even that tiny action seems threatening and ominous.

I brace myself as he takes a step forward, darting to one side in an attempt to avoid the onslaught of sweet soda, but he catches my move and pretends to trip, flinging his Fanta all over my head. I stand there, coughing and dripping with the sticky fizz running down my hair, into my clothes. He rights himself, laughing, and people stare.

I feel the familiar slow burn working its way to my face.

"Whoops. My bad, twat," he sneers, kicking the can at me. "By the way, love the new hair."

I can't see anything but red, livid anger.

Simon jeers at me once more and then turns. And then stumbles back a step, nearly slipping in the orange mess he made. "Whoa, man. Didn't see you there."

Oh, hurray. To add even more humiliation to my day, Jace stands in front of us. Then my breath catches. He looks disgusted, even a little pissed– but not at me. At Simon.

Jace takes a step forward, into Simon's space. Simon's trying to act tough, but I'm close enough to see the shaking. So is Jace. This is probably the first time Jace has even bothered to spare Simon a glance. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I – I ," Simon falters. He glances around, noticing the huge crowd that's gathered, and tries to look dignified. "It was an act of God."

A few snickers from the crowd.

"Well, then." Jace cocks his head to the side, studying Simon. Somehow, the look is so unnerving that Simon actually flinches. "So is this."

He lunges forward and slams Simon into the lockers.

People laugh outright. Simon looks like he wants to cry, and I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

It's hard to do that when you're still dripping wet with soda all over.

"Clean this mess up, asshole," Jace says, leaning down into Simon's face. Then he straightens at grimaces, scanning me from head to toe. Under normal circumstances, I might have been elated that he was checking me out. Now it's just plain mortifying. "And you should…I'm not sure what you should do."

He shakes his head and walks off, nonchalant, like nothing's happened.

People stare at him, eyes wide and eyebrows high, wondering what just happened. _I'm_ still wondering what the hell just happened. Jace had just stood up for me. In front of the whole school, in front of everyone, for someone he owed nothing to and had nothing for. I wasn't Seelie, and even if it had been her, I seriously doubt that he would have defended her.

Ignoring the burning stares, I walk to my locker, grab my PE bag, and rush off to class. For once, I'm actually thankful that it's the swimming unit.

…

The bell rang ten minutes ago, but I still stall outside the classroom. My hair's dried by now, since PE had been second period and it was now fourth. My clothes, although looking fine externally, feel slightly sticky on the inside. Or maybe I'm just overreacting.

It's a record lateness for me when I slip into class thirteen minutes late.

"Clarissa," Valentine says through gritted teeth, definitely pissed. Normally he'd just ignore me. "How nice of you to join us today."

Class has started, and in the center of the room, a crowd of students stand, rehearsing. Celine, my backup, stands in my place, subbing for me.

Oops. Wrong day to choose to be late.

"Sorry," I mutter.

"Aw, Mr. Morgenstern," Jace calls from across the room where he's fooling around with his friends. "Take it easy today."

Again, people stop what they're doing and stare. I narrow my eyes at Jace. Why is he doing this? Why is he being so nice?

I don't want a pity party.

Valentine looks at Jace, hard. "We can't 'take it easy', Mr. Wayland. No doubt you might 'take it easy', be it school-related or _extracurricular-wise_, but not everyone can afford that luxury." There's definitely something nasty implied in the _extracurricular._ And everyone knows it.

"Well," I say breezily, walking towards the rehearsing group and flipping to the assigned page. "You're not the one who should be talking about _extracurricular _activities." Something in me glows hot and bright when Valentine actually stutters. "Now, let's start, shall we? Thanks for taking my spot, Celine."

Valentine's glare should have froze me right on the spot, but my mind is still reeling from Jace defending me, so I brush it off as if it were a pesky fly.

"So, where were we? Oh, right," I mumble, staring at the lines. Holy shit, there were a lot. I feel bad for Maia, who's playing the Nurse. Her mouth might as well fall off by the end of this act. "_I'll look to like if looking liking move/ But no more deep will I endart mine eye/ Than your consent gives strength to make it fly…"_

Jesus Christ. Shakespeare can make a story, but his words are sure convoluted.

After a while, we take a rest and I plop down in a random desk, feigning exhaustion. Valentine rolls his eyes, knowing perfectly well that I had not even given an ounce of effort.

"Well," a deep voice says beside me. Jace slides into a chair. "I must say, you have a true acting talent."

"Please," I surprise myself by actually laughing at his remark. "Save it for my shining moment on stage."

"Hopefully you'll break a leg before that. Even Celine did better than you, and I have to say, she was pretty crappy."

"Wow," I scoff. "Where did the whole knight-in-shining-armor act go? And just when I thought you weren't an ass."

He looks at me, and a moment passes in silence. I realize what I've just said.

I'm the last person who should be saying that, in that sarcastic tone.

"Jace, I…"

But he only grins, standing up to go back to Seelie. "Don't worry about it. Just remember: I'm coming back to collect, so don't think I did it out of the pure goodness of my heart."

Oh, no.

…

Of course the whole soda thing would spread around school like wildfire. After getting scolded by the Chemistry teacher for excessive chitchat, Aline immediately latches onto my arm afterschool and drags me to the nearest Starbucks. I order my favorite latte and lean back against the chair as she grills me on the details.

"Okay," she says, slurping her Frap unattractively. I tell her that, and she makes a big show of slurping every last drop in the damn container. I roll my eyes, laughing.

"So, I think he's got something for you." Her eyes are wide and round.

I scoff. "I think it was just out of pity. And you know how much I hate that."

"No, no." Aline punctuates each word with a finger in the air. It's pretty hilarious. "He never did anything like that before. And now he does it for you. And you're only a sophomore. That's crazy. There's definitely something going on between the two of you. And, like, seriously, why are you still hiding info from me. I'm your _best friend_, remember?"

"Aline," I sigh. "For the hundred-thousandth time, there is nothing going on between us. Nothing."

"Oh? Like you would know. What do you know about relationships?"

Okay, so maybe she had a point there.

She laughs at my silence. "Exactly."

"Fine," I say. "I might have a tiny, unperceptive, miniscule, little crush on Jace."

Saying it out loud, to somebody else, just makes it all too official.

Just as I predict, Aline squeals. "Welcome to St. Xavier."

This makes us both chuckle. Something taps against the window beside me, and I turn, practically colliding with Jace's face outside the window. I scream, scrambling out of my chair. His face had been so freaking close. It the window wasn't there, we could have kissed.

He's grinning from ear to ear, obviously gloating, and his friends behind him double over with laughter. Isabelle's boyfriend, the one with the black and blue eyes, has tears welling in his eyes. He blows me a kiss.

Aline jabs me. I know what she's thinking: had he heard us?

But he only salutes me and walks off, deliberately away with his back to me.

I rush out of the store. "That wasn't funny, Jace!"

He glances over his shoulder, still smirking. "Later, Juliet."

It kinda hurts when Seelie snakes an arm around his waist, and him an arm draped over her shoulders.

But only a little.

**Yes, Clary's a bit of a bitch. Deal with it.**

**I want to thank you guys so very much for the support. It means a lot. **

**And of course, REVIEW!**


	8. Chapter 8

**As promised, here is Chapter 8, updated on Christmas Eve! MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! **

**Chapter Eight**

I did not want this day to come. No, I definitely did not. The day of Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, Scene 5, where Romeo and Juliet infamously kiss after meeting for five seconds.

I mean, really Shakespeare? I get that teenagers can be horny sometimes, but we're not _that_ horny.

So it's kind of hard to explain what exactly is going on in my mind when Jace slides into the desk adjacent to mine. My stomach explodes into butterflies and turbulent ocean tsunami waves. My heart bangs away like a drum. All rational thought escapes my mind as I sit there like an idiot.

"So," Jace says. "Ready to rock it up there today?"

"Um." I can't look him in the eye. "Won't Seelie mind?"

"Seelie?" He sounds surprised. "No. Why would she? In fact, she told me she's looking forward to it."

Oh, boy. That does not bode well. Not at all.

"It's okay if you're scared, Clary," Jace says, a smirk plastered on his face. "It's only in front of our class, and seriously – "

"You've already locked lips with half of the girls here."

He grins. "Exactly. So it's no big deal. Just go up there and put yourself out there. And no crappy acting today, okay? Because crappy kissing sucks. Even if it's with someone like me – and believe me, kissing with me can never be sucky – kissing requires full effort. So don't kiss like how you've been acting recently. Got it? And honestly, you don't look like you're that bad of a kisser."

Well, considering the fact that I've never kissed anyone before, I'm not sure exactly how valid the last statement is.

But, Jesus Christ, was he going to pep talk me with something from _How to Kiss for Dummies_? Or was he just purposely provoking me so I'd turn red?

Judging by the amusement in his eyes and that deliciously annoying smirk on his face, I guess the latter.

He's still rambling about the art of kissing when I interrupt, shoving my fingers into my hair in agitation. "Jace, I need you – "

"Yes, I get that a lot from women."

" – to shut up." I roll my eyes.

"Actually, that would be a great idea," a third voice pops up. I pivot in my chair. Valentine stands behind me, script rolled in one hand. "Let's get this game on the road, kiddos."

…

"_Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand…._" I squint at the paper for the hundredth time. "Eh, I can't read it. I forgot to wear my contacts today."

Valentine sighs, stares at the ceiling for a while, and then walks to his desk for some Advil.

Jace arches an eyebrow. "Jesus. How bad can your eyesight be?"

A flood of embarrassment runs through me even though I'm only pretending to stall for time. My eyes skim over the clock. Ten more minutes until the bell. Good.

Jace waves a hand in front of my face, holding up four fingers. "How many fingers do I have?"

_Ten, obviously._

But I must play blind. "Uhm…three? Four?"

A few people burst out laughing. Jace grins. "Nope! Ten."

This is too good to pass up.

"Yeah?" I say, feeling both cocky and irritated. I hold up my middle finger. "How many fingers do I have then?"

Jace grins, not a bit offended. The class catcalls and whistles.

At the sound, Valentine spins around. "What's going on?"

I quickly drop my hand. "Nothing."

"Good," he says, "because since you're so hell-bent on wasting our time, I've decided to skip directly to the kissing portion."

My jaw has found its new home: the floor. "Wh-what? But what about the other lines preceding that part? Those are just as important, if even not more important!"

Valentine waves my comment aside.

"Is this some form of punishment?" I cry, enraged.

"I'd hardly call it punishment," Seelie remarks slyly, winking at Jace.

I roll my eyes. "Fantastic. We have a volunteer. Why don't you take my place, Seelie?"

She snickers. "Oh no. I can kiss Jace any time, whereas for you, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

I raise my eyebrows. "Wow, Seelie, did you just make a complex compound sentence?"

"Quit bickering," Valentine snaps. He raises his eyebrows tauntingly, and the class waits in anticipation. I fidget from foot to foot. "Anytime now would be great," he says.

Jace and I stare at our papers, where the italicized words _They kiss_ grin mockingly up at us, and stand there, unmoving, in awkward silence. The whole class, for once, is playing attention.

Valentine clears his throat. "Well? Hurry up and get it on."

_"What_?" I splutter. Okay, that phrase was totally not cool, especially coming from his fifty-year-old mouth.

Jace, however, throws me a wicked smile and takes a threatening step forward. "I don't mind."

My innards scream. I think my ovaries may have erupted. "_O_-kay." I take a step back, fighting to keep my voice even, feigning nonchalance, as if kissing Jace was a natural, everyday occurrence.

_I wish._

"I'd rather not trade spit in public." These words are directed at Valentine as well, but he doesn't seem affected. The annoying prick.

"Alright," Valentine says. "Just kiss each other on the cheek then."

He looks amused. Fantastic. Now my mother will surely find out about this mortifying experience and babble it to all my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents…hell, maybe even my third cousins.

"That's not very, um, PG, Valenti – " I break off, realizing how it must seem to everyone else: me calling our English teacher by his first name. Oh, gosh. " – _Mr. Morgenstern_ – remember, this play is for freshmen. Y'know, little, puny, immature kids?"

Now he's exasperated. He throws his hands into the hair. "Whatever, Clary. You win. _Touching cheeks_ isn't too much to handle, now is it?"

"Not doing the play isn't too much to handle, either," I say, treacly sweet.

He glares, and I lapse into silence. I guess, though, that I had done pretty well. Pretty low on the PDA scale, touching cheeks is definitely something I can absolutely positively manage around the likes of Jace Wayland.

I think.

I take an awkward shuffling step towards Jace, looking everywhere but his face. With my short height and his towering frame, I have to tiptoe and rest my hands on his shoulders to keep balance.

His hard, muscled, defined shoulders. A vision of my hands, running down his arms, across his back, his shoulder blades flashes through me, causing tiny shivers to run up by spine.

When our cheeks brush slightly, the tiny hair along his jaw prickles my skin, and something hot and searing races through me from where we connect to the tips of my toes.

Not good.

"Touching cheeks," Seelie snickers. She pretends to say it quietly, but everyone can hear every word that explodes from her ugly, lipstick-caked mouth. "She probably doesn't even know how to kiss."

Without meaning to, my nails dig into Jace's shoulders.

"Don't listen to her," he murmurs softly, breath ruffling my hair. Surprised, I glance up, and freeze. His lips are mere centimeters from mine. If I only turn my head just a bit…

I jerk away before the urge to throw him across the room and jump his bones turns into reality.

Jesus Christ. And that was only a simple cheek touch. I could hardly imagine what would ensue if it had been lips on lips.

"Very nice!" Valentine applauds thunderously. "The chemistry's flowing!"

"There's no fu-freaking chemistry!" I nearly scream.

"Look how red she's turning," Seelie sneer. "Hey, Clary. Even if you dyed your hair, you're still a red_head._ Literally."

If that insult had come from someone else's mouth, it may have actually been good. My fists clench, and then Jace's voice runs through my head, calming me.

_Don't listen to her_.

"It's alright," Jace grins arrogantly. Immediately, any warm and fuzzy feelings I harbored morphed into annoyance. "It's a common effect I seem to have on women. Look," he suddenly pulls Maia, the closest girl to him, flush against his body.

She turns a deep, deep red, and I don't blame her. Seelie's gaping like a fish out of water.

"Jace Wayland!" Valentine barks. "That's inappropriate!"

"Oh ho ho," I laugh. "Who's talking now?"

Like you ravishing my mother is appropriate? Please.

Valentine's eyes grow hard and beady as he stalks over with a fake cheery smile plastered on. "Sometimes," he grows in a tone so low only I can hear it, "sometimes I don't know what to do with you. Don't make me regret anything I do." His hand on my arm clenches hard. "Now, fake a smile like I've said something funny."

I slap his arm, chuckling. "Oh, Valentine," I say with a natural smile. "You can kiss my ass."

The people close enough to hear me nearly drop their scripts. Maia actually does, but that's understandable for her flustered state.

Valentine's smile drops and I tap my face cheekily, in a silent reminder. _Smile, remember?_

His fingers dig into my flesh.

As soon as he turns away, my smile drops and I roll my eyes, glowering at his back. For some reason I can't understand, I look at Jace.

He's trying to smother a smile.

**It's Christmas, and this is my present for you guys^^**

**Spread the love this season by reviewing, please? It'd make my holidays 10000x better!**


	9. Chapter 9

**WAAAAOOOOOOOWWWW SO MANY REVIEWS! God, I am so shocked and reeling and happy that I decided to update!^^**

**You guys convinced me to update because it's a new year. HELLLOOOO 2013, the beginning of something amazing**

**REMINDER: Aline (Clary's flirty best friend) likes Raphael (bookish, nerdy). This is a filler chapter, but I like it.**

**Chapter Nine**

Aline leans on the lockers next to me, her black hair pulled into a sleek, straight ponytail and a pair a chick, black glasses perched on her nose. I cram binder paper into a folder and pull out three textbooks, trying unsuccessfully to juggle them in my arms. One topples out and nearly falls to the ground, but Aline swiftly catches it and hands it back to me.

"Thanks," I say gratefully. "Nice glasses, by the way."

"Thanks to you to!" she squeals, adjusting them. "Raph likes them too." She lowers her voice confidentially. "He's actually the reason I bought them."

"No way," I say in mock disbelief. "I just thought you wanted to look like a nerd."

She punches my arm, oblivious to the fact that I am carrying ten pounds worth of books.

"Just kidding! You look cute in a smart way," I laugh. "And gosh, you're calling him _Raph_ now?"

She wrinkles her nose defensively. "So what if I am?"

"Nothing. It's just – funny, I guess. You're into partying and shit and he's into libraries and science competitions."

Although I shouldn't be the one talking. I mean, I'm the invisible art girl, and Jace is the god-like jock. Not that Jace and I have a thing like Aline and Raphael do…

Aline crosses her arms. "So what? I like him. He makes me laugh, he listens to me, and he _gets _me, you know? And if you think we're weird, take a look at yourself. What about you and hot-pant-sizzling-God who's – _holy shit_, looking at you right this instant?"

"Me and pant-sizzling – what?"

I sneak a glance down the hall, and, sure enough, Jace and his groupie have just made their "grand appearance" down the hall. Suddenly, people need to shout to be heard. That's how loud they are.

And Aline was right. Jace is flat-out staring at me.

I gulp audibly, earning a jab from Aline.

Not knowing what to do, I smile tentatively, although it feels more like a grimace.

One side of Jace's mouth curls up, and, as he passes by me, he turns his head and winks slowly, smirking, as if we were sharing one dark, dirty secret.

The textbooks in my arms almost clatter to the floor, and my traitorous knees give out. I sink against the lockers for support.

Aline fans herself with her hand, sighing long and wistfully. Then she immediately pounces on me.

"What. The. Hell. Was. That?!"

I groan. "I think I finally understand why you refer to him as 'Mr. Pant-sizzle.'"

"He freaking winked at you like he wanted you to be in his bed at 11PM tonight!"

At that, the students in the hall simultaneously turn their heads to stare at us. Could she be any louder?

_But yeah, he did wink at me like that._

"Dear God," Aline sighs. "This has to be a dream."

I pinch myself.

Yep. Still awake.

…

Jace's suggestive wink is still rolling through my mind as I step into English class, unceremoniously late as always.

Class has started slowly today, and my classmates are still chatting with each other. Valentine remains seated as his desk, filing papers. With a lack of things to do, I use my fingers to comb my hair into a messy ponytail.

Most of my hair is still hazelnut brown, but the dye's beginning to wear out, and my roots are red again.

Valentine finally claps his hands together, signaling worktime, and people migrate to their designated areas – the painters in one section, the costume makers in another, and the actors grouped in several small areas, practicing their lines together.

Val calls me and Jace to the front. As usual, Seelie's tagging along like a lost puppy.

"So, I wanted to talk to you two about Act III Scene IV," he says. "You know, the one where you guys wake up in bed together?"

At the mere mention of bed, my face grows hot. Jace seems equally uncomfortable, and Seelie looks downright murderous.

"Well, obviously you'll both be fully dressed – "

"Oh, darn," I snap. "I was hoping we'd be naked."

Valentine glares. "Funny. As I was saying, we're going to bring in a lightweight mattress, but the two of you can just lie side by side. I wanted to make sure it was okay with you two beforehand."

Oh, Jesus Christ. I _am_ going to be in bed with Jace after all.

Before either of us can speak a word, however, Seelie explodes. "Okay? _Okay_? Are you shitting me? Of course it's not okay!"

Jace slides her an impatient glance. "Seelie."

Oh? I think. Not babe?

"Shut up!" She screams at me.

Oh, shit. I said that out loud…?

Seelie continues her harangue, and the whole class quickly drops what they're doing to stare.

"There is absolutely no possible way on this planet where they are going to sleep together!" She shrills. "This slut and my boyfriend? In the same bed? Hell to the no fucking way."

Everyone's eyes zoom in on me, anticipating some catfight or retort, and I bite my lips hard to refrain from spitting in her face. Everything about Jace's stiff posture, the hard line of his mouth, the clenching of his fists in his pants, screams at me that he does not like this situation.

My silence is worth it when he sends me a look of gratitude.

Seelie's face darkens as blood pours into her cheeks. She stalks up to me, her breath in my hair, her eyes shooting daggers, her veins throbbing in her temples, and she stabs one long, manicured fingernail into my collarbone.

I try not to wince.

The hatred and the disgust in her eyes stab into the pit of my stomach. The tone of her voice all but spits that I am a piece of trash.

"Did you not hear me?" She snarls, her nose inches from mine.

My resolve snaps in two. "Get out of my face, you psychotic bitch."

Good one, Fray. Good one.

In an instant she's on me, and I duck before her hand can slap my face. Jace and Woosely both leap forward and grab one of Seelie's arms before she can wreak havoc.

With his free hand, Jace pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowed together in annoyance and anger. "Seelie. Can we talk? Alone?"

She practically drags him by the collar outside.

I look down at my shoes in shame and embarrassment as he passes.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. I really am. I knew he didn't want a big blowout like this and I just couldn't keep my mouth closed.

He flicks me a quick glance and his mouth softens and curls into a mischievous smile. "Don't worry. It was actually pretty hot to see you pissed off like that."

_Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Someone tell me how he can work his mouth like that._

At the door, Seelie flips me off, shouting a string curses. It's then that I finally realize how bizarre the situation is. How intimidated Seelie feels by me.

_Me._

She thinks I actually have a shot with Jace. That I can steal Jace away.

My face begins hurting from grinning so hard.

Finally, finally, _finally_, I feel powerful.

The whole room is frozen in tense silence long after the door slams. Slowly, people cautiously return to their previous activities, whispering in hushed tones and casting furtive glances in my direction.

Valentine slowly blows out a big breath. He mutters something under his breath that sounds queerly like "crazy, hormonal teenager."

And finally, we are able to see eye to eye.

Crazy, hormonal teenager, indeed.

**HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL YOU AWESOME READERS AND REVIEWERS! **

**Please review because it's a new year? (and I updated quickly!)**


	10. Chapter 10

**ITS FINALS WEEK AND IM UPDATING?! WHAT THE HECK? **

**Okay fine. It's because you guys are so awesome and your reviews made me all warm and gooey inside that I couldn't help but update.**

**This is the play chapter! Please keep in mind that the play is soooo long so I cut some parts. Also, hope you guys enjoy it. The chapter's super super long. **

**Also, I may have made Valentine a bit too mean. That was not my original plan):**

**Chapter Ten**

**TIME LAPSE**

When you see the hottest guy in school talking to a loser art freak, you might just stop and stare, turn in disbelief to your best friend (or whichever poor soul that happens to be standing next to you) and begin ranting uncontrollably. That is exactly what has happened to me nine times in the last five minutes.

Jace leans on the locker next to mine, carelessly holding a book in one hand while dribbling a soccer ball with the other. A smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. He looks so relaxed, and, discreetly wiping my palms on my pants, I try my best to seem as nonchalant as possible.

I guess even _I'm _a tiny bit surprised that he's chosen to talk to me. I still remember back when he used to brush by me like I was invisible. Then he started acknowledging me, doing the brief chin jerk, eyebrows-raised nod as we passed each other in the halls. In class, he began sitting down next to me whenever he was free, talking and teasing, laughing and smiling.

Which really freaked me out, given the innumerable death glares Seelie sent.

"Zoning out again, Fray? Am I that boring?" Jace waves a hand two inches away from my face.

I lean away, wrinkling my nose. "Sorry. It's just…"

What was I supposed to say? You're hot and popular and amazing in every possible way, so why are you hanging out with someone like me?

Jace mistakes my opened answer for nervousness. "I get it. The play. Don't worry. It's only in front of a bunch of freshmen."

Right. The play.

Just thinking of it sends a whole column of butterflies flying – no, a whole volcanic arc of exploding lava erupting – in my stomach.

Today is the first, and hopefully only, performance we're putting on. Valentine had excused us from second through fourth period to put on the play for the freshmen in the auditorium.

"Of course you don't have to worry." I try to say it lightly, but it doesn't come out that way. "They worship you like a god."

"And you don't?"

"I worship anything that hasn't been brainwashed by you," I grin.

A girl with long brown hair stalks by me, throwing an accusing glare. Sigh.

Jace tilts dangerously close to me, making my face flare in all shades of red. "You're going to be eating those words once you see me in Romeo's outfit. I'll be so hot my flesh will burn and your ovaries will produce automatic babies."

"What?"

"Sorry. I'm so out of it."

I laugh. "You think?"

He takes a deep breath, and I realize with a shock that he's nervous. Jace, nervous. He opens his mouth to say something when the late bell for second period blasts through the speakers.

"Shit," he mumbles, just as I say, "Valentine is going to flip."

We look at each other and begin sprinting down the hall. From the corner of my eye, I see Jace smiling.

…

Turns out, Valentine does flip. As soon as he spies us trying to sneak in the back door, he storms over, his face as dark as a black hole. A crowd of eagerly awaiting students streams after him, hungry for some serious scolding. Assholes.

"The two leading actors – _leading actors! – _late? Absolutely unacceptable. Outrageous!" He shouts, totally flipping out. I muffle a yelp as Jace's elbow digs into my side. "Even the supporting actors, the blasted costume makers– "

"Hey!" Woosley Scott protests.

" – got here on time! You two are in big, big trouble. I have to remain calm now for the show, but don't think I'm going to forget." He glares at us and storms away.

"If that's calm," Jace mutters, "I'd hate to see what angry is." He shakes his head and clamps a hand down on my head, ruffling my hair before following one of the guys to the back to change.

I'm acutely aware of Seelie's death glare as I brush past her to slip into Juliet's ridiculously frilly dress.

Then, time speeds up. Suddenly, Isabelle's pounding on the door to the changing room, yelling that I'm onstage in two seconds. There's no time to even be frightened. People are grabbing my arms, pushing me forward, and I almost fall flat on my face as I stumble onstage.

Bright light blinds me for a second, and I turn to look out over the auditorium, meeting a sea of black with round shapes that appear to be heads. My heart pounds, my throat dries, and then, as if by miracle, my mouth begins to mechanically recite lines.

Everything seems so surreal.

Then the curtains fall for the next scene and I'm ushered off the stage. Then on again. Then off.

And then…

Then…

The awkward kissing scene.

Oh, Jesus Christ. Humiliation in class is one thing, but mortification in front of _freshmen_?

Someone please kill me.

Capulet and the guests are gathered on one side of the stage, pretending to party. They look like fifth graders unsuccessfully trying to freak. Then Jace ambles over and I release the curtain I'm hanging on to for life support and run onstage, towards him.

He grabs my hand. "_If I profane with my unworthiest hand / This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand / To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss._"

Someone in the crowd snickers.

My mind nearly goes blank as Jace's finger gently runs down the length of my palm. Was he _trying_ to make me seem like an idiot?

"_G-Good pilgrim,_" I stutter, curling my fingers tightly against his to stop him from distracting me, "_you do wrong your hand too much / Which mannerly devotion shows in this / For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch / And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."_

Jace rushes through his next lines, sounding breathless. My mouth almost twists in envy, for Valentine is sure to commend him for excellent acting. "_O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do…Move not, while my prayers effect I take."_

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god.

The awkward moment has arrived.

Jace's face comes closer and closer. I turn my face a little, and he the other way. Our cheeks touch, and I can't help but inhale his scent. Wild and fresh, like pine needles.

He pulls away, lingering slightly, and my heart thumps wildly.

Awkward moment over. Good. Only nine thousand more to go.

I open my mouth to speak, but what I never imagine is for the whole freshmen class to burst out in simultaneous groans.

Freaking freshmen.

And then, my worst nightmare.

Some snotty, annoying kids begin chanting, "Kiss her! Kiss her!"

My face is as red as Clifford the Big Red Dog.

I am that mortified, barely able to look Jace in the eye as I stutter out my next lines, which are completely drowned out. The chanting continues, rising like a tidal wave towering thousands of feet high before crashing down.

Jace's cheeks are surprisingly flushed, as if he's just won a soccer game. He glances at the crowd, meets my eyes for a millisecond, and then peers at Valentine offstage, unsure of what to do.

Valentine, clearly distraught, waves us on, while the teachers attempt to subdue those annoying brats. Maybe tranquilizers will do the job.

Jace recites his lines, and, as soon as the curtains drop, both of us pelt of the stage, faster than Usain Bolt.

As the backstage managers scurry around, Jace and I do everything to avoid each other.

Talk about awkward.

I wanted to go out there and slap all those little asses senseless.

Thinking of it just makes me angrier. I was harrassed by little babies. But at least Jace suffered along with me, although it probably wasn't more than a prick to him. He's probably already kissed half of the freaking girls at our school. I wonder absent-mindedly if he's a virgin.

Then I immediately regret it as I glance over at him and catch his eye. My face burns. There's this unfamiliar clenching in my chest that makes it hard to breath.

I will never ever _ever_ think that thought again.

Thankfully, it isn't our turn to act yet, so both of us prepare for the next scene…the balcony scene.

Oh, my God. Seriously not good. This is the scene where Romeo stuffs his tongue halfway down Juliet's throat.

The curtains fall again, way too soon. I dread going onstage, and, even more frightening, part of me is anticipating it.

I take my place on the "balcony," a crappy cardboard cutout raised three feet above the stage.

From behind the curtains, Jace smiles at me. And just like that, I flush.

Some tiny voice whispers in my ear: _he's playing you, exactly like how he plays all other girls._

The curtains rise.

I sigh. "_O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? / Deny thy father and refuse thy name. / Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love / And I'll no longer be a Capulet_."

Jace snakes quietly towards me, as if scared to be discovered by Old Capulet. "_I take thee at thy word./ Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized./ Henceforth I never will be Romeo."_

I gasp with delight, yet I only feel hatred as the freshmen snicker. Oh, the fun of being an actor. "_My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words / Of that tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound./ Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?"_

I scamper down the balcony into Jace's embrace. Not for the first time, I wish everything is real. The hugs, the love, the kissing. But we are only acting.

He frames my face in his hands. After all those rehearsals, I still haven't gotten used to it. I still feel the electric zaps from where his fingers brush over my cheeks, and now, in front of everyone, the feeling is greater than ever.

"Juliet," he whispers.

_I wish you'd say Clary._

Instead of slobbering spit, we take a tiny stroll around the stage, reciting our lines, and then from offstage, Maia's voice, playing the Nurse, shrieks, "_Madam!_"

I hurry back to the balcony, careful not to trip on the long dress and fall on my face in full view of the audience.

"Wait, Juliet!"

I stand on my balcony edge and lean forward, towards Jace.

_"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!"_

Someone. Stab. Me. Now.

Please.

The moment approaches closer and closer. The pounding of my heart grows louder and louder. Breathing becomes a challenge.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Jace's eyes glitter. He leans towards me, and I turn my head to one side, like last time.

But he angles his differently.

He is going to kiss me.

Kiss me. On my lips. In front of the freshmen and Seelie and Valentine and everyone else.

My eyes fly wide, and Jace smirks a little, but only a little. The chanting rises to a thunderous roar, the teachers powerless to do anything.

So close. It was coming. The kiss.

I move so fast at the last second that his lips land sloppily on my cheek.

But I still blush. A kiss is still a kiss.

Jace pulls back, his head lowered and his reaction hidden. And all I hear is booing from the crowd.

Little bitches. Who do they think they are? How can they be so disrespectful?

I'm so furious I can't think straight. And so shocked that Jace tried to _kiss_ me.

Maybe that's why I suddenly feel as if I'm out of my body. Maybe that's why I suddenly have enough guts to do something I've never dreamed of. Not in a million years.

In front of the students, teachers, _everyone_, I flip the audience off. In plain view, on the stage.

The audience hushes, lapsing into shocked silence. The teachers are in a state of disbelief. Valentine looks at me like I'm a stranger.

I have a right to do this.

With a feeling of extreme satisfaction, I stalk off the stage.

The rest of the play runs smoothly. During the last scene, I enact Juliet's death so beautifully that I receive a standing ovation. Hell, dying is the best part of the play. It feels as if part of my mortification has died along with Juliet.

…

After the play, my luck goes downhill. Jace corners me as soon as I step out of the changing stall. I open the door, and there he stands, leaning casually against the wall.

_He's playing you, just like how he plays all other girls._

He immediately takes three huge steps over. I try to dodge.

No use. It's like trying to escape twenty sumo wrestlers advancing in a line. You never make it to the end.

Not that Jace was fat…

Fat Jace. I crack a smile.

Apparently, he takes it the wrong way and demands, seeming almost frustrated and agitated, "Why didn't you let me kiss you?"

"Wow. Arrogant, are we?" I shoot back.

He grins. The prick really hadn't been affected by the humiliating chanting. "Who do you think I am? Jace Pussy Wayland?

"Sorry, how many pussies have you licked?"

Yeah, even he had to admit, that was a good one. Score for me.

Jace takes a step back. "What?"

"Look, Jace, I'm sorry you can't just go around kissing anyone you like. Not everyone whores around like you and your girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" He laughs. "We broke up weeks ago. You're hella late, Sophomore."

Something in my chest feels tight. And excited. And hopeful.

"Sorry my world doesn't revolve around you," I say.

"Is that a challenge?" Jace smiles, badboy to perfection. "Because I can make it revolve around me."

I roll my eyes. "The only way that will happen is if you take a leash, tie me up, and swing me in circles."

One of his dimples surfaces. Damn. Dimples just make him harder to resist.

"We'll see. By the way," he smiles, a real smile. "Nice stunt back there. You've got quite a lot more guts that I'd credited you with."

I brush past him, laughing. Leave it up to Jace to cheer me up.

I'm still laughing as I venture back onto the stage, where my classmates are cleaning up, when a hand clamps onto my shoulder. A cold hand.

Shit.

"Clarissa," Valentine growls. "Come with me. Now."

…

The office is deceptively colorful. Pictures of various pieces of student artwork hang along the walls, creating an atmosphere of happiness and concealing its true identity: a shithole.

The principle, Mr. Starkweather, sits sternly in front of me, while Valentine stands behind him, like a pathetic lap dog.

"Clarissa Fray?"

"Yeah."

"I've just been informed of your behavior. Unacceptable. However, given the circumstances, I understand your actions. This is why I will be only assigning you a twenty-four hour community service assignment to be done this Saturday. It is some form of a carnival sponsored by the Institute on Idris Street. I'll relay the info to your fifth period later. Do you have any questions?"

Only twenty four hours? Was he kidding me?

From his expression, the answer seemed to be yes.

Fuck.

I stumble out of the office, seriously angry. A loner leans against the wall, snickering slightly, and I stomp towards him, ready to knock out his teeth out.

It's Jace.

"Um," I say shortly, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't peg you to be the stalker type."

His mouth – oh, God, the mouth that had been mere centimeters from my own half an hour ago– pulls up into a lazy smile. "Sorry. You're just too damn irresistible."

The biting retort fizzles and dies on my tongue. And the sad part is, I can't tell if he's kidding or not.

His smirk tells me he knows I believe him. "Don't sweat it, Sophomore. Trust me, I don't feel like throwing up when I see you."

Throwing up? Was he purposely taunting me for puking all over him? Any warm and fuzzy feelings I have for him dwindles and dies.

"You know what's funny?" I snap. "That I actually believed for a while you weren't a complete jackass."

Jace's smile vanishes. And, if I'd been stupid, I would have said he even looked sorry. "Oh, come on, Clary. You know I didn't mean it that way."

"Yeah?" I scoff, crossing my arms. "Then please enlighten me."

He rubs the back of his neck, looking abashed. "I guess I just meant that you're…not too hard on the eyes. Not hard at all."

What does he mean, not hard on the eyes? That I'm pretty? But this is Jace Wayland. If he means pretty, he would say pretty…right?

I guess I am just hopelessly and foolishly wishing.

"Nice try, Jace, but sorry I'm not your average unevolved Neaderthal whore."

"God, Clary." He runs a hand through his hair in agitation and inhales deeply. "It's like we're back where we started before. Arguing nonstop. Look, I'm sorry, okay? Just forget I said anything. Forget we had this conversation."

That kind of subdues me a bit. Maybe I'm worth something to him after all.

"Then what did you want to say before – "

Shit. I am such a bitch.

I didn't even apologize. And now, it's a little too late.

He looks at me for a while as I slowly die inside and finally says, "I overheard your punishment."

I sigh.

"What if I told you that my uncle is one of the organizers and that I'm also forced to go?"

"Are you serious?"

He lifts a shoulder. "Do you want to go together? I mean, together as in I'll give you a ride, not together-together. Or unless you want to go together-together, then we can go together-together. But I'm not like suggesting anything, you know? I just – "

I can't stop laughing.

"Hey." He snaps. "What's so funny?"

I laugh some more. "You," I shake my head. "You're _stuttering._"

"I am not," he says indignantly. "I'm _clarifying"_ He pauses, then starts snickering. "Ha, see what I did there? You're Clary, and I'm 'clary-fying.'"

"Wow, I think we have the next Einstein here," I say sarcastically. For a second we just grin at eat other stupidly. "But sure, I'd love to go together."

And before I can think twice, before I can back out, before I begin overanalyzing everything, I reach out and wrap my arms around him. Then I scurry away, down the hall, my face on fire.

Maybe now he thinks I'm weird.

But maybe it was worth it.

**This took a **_**LONG**_** time to write when I should have been studying for finals, so please please **_**please**_** review. Also, my birthday is in less than two weeks, so please review as a present? :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for the late update. Track season's started, and I'm busier than everrr.**

**And don't worry. Clary and Jace will kiss in due time…and hopefully it will be worth the wait(; And sorry for not replying to all the reviews. I always appreciate all the reviews. I tried to get as many as possible, but I think you guys would rather have me work on writing the story instead and updating sooner, right? I hope this makes up for it! **

**Just a reminder because I haven't mentioned him much, but Sebastian is Clary's older brother**

**Chapter Eleven**

10:46AM.

Sixteen minutes late. Jace is sixteen full minutes late for picking me up. Or maybe he just forgot I was going.

I glance at my watch and peek outside the window for the 1758th time.

Mom, who has been giving me the cold shoulder ever since the play fiasco, refuses to even look at me, much less send me to the community service project. If it wasn't for Jace, I would be walking fifteen miles by foot.

I feel betrayed. My mother has chosen an English teacher over her own daughter.

Sometimes, I wish my dad had stayed. I wish he hadn't run off after I was born, with some hooker from L.A. I can't remember him at all, but I like to think of him as this handsome, tall athlete, smiling at me and throwing me in the air. He must look something like Sebastian, all muscular with angular features and white-blond hair.

Sebastian's old enough to remember him, but he won't talk about Dad. Last time I tried, his face had turned stony and cold and dark, and he had slammed the door in my face.

Mom, I didn't even try. The last thing I need is for her to break down in front of me.

So I guess it's great for her to be falling in love again. Just not with my English teacher.

A honk from outside jars me out of my depressing daydream and I jump to my feet, grab my bag, and hop into Jace's car.

"Thanks for being on time," I say, securing my seatbelt.

"Sorry," he says. "I couldn't decide what to wear."

I stare at his wrinkled sweatshirt and Adidas soccer sweats. Sure.

There's a moment of silence, which unfortunately lapses into a long, awkward pause.

Just what I had feared.

"So," I say. It comes out too loud and too forced. I cringe. "I didn't know you had an uncle."

"He's not related," Jace says. "After my parents ditched me and the Lightwoods came along, Raziel took me under his wing. He was my old coach for the Institute soccer team I used to play on."

"So now you feel obligated to help him in return."

Now Jace turns to fully look at me. "You have a really cynical view of life, Clary."

Blame it on my dad. And Valentine. And the myriad of other unfortunate events in my life. Like puking. And bullying.

"But yes," he continues. "In a way, I guess I do owe Stephen. But I do it because I genuinely want to help him, not because I feel compelled to. And besides, carnivals are fun."

"Really? Huh, I thought it was just a bunch of screaming kids and cotton candy."

"You've never been to one?" He shakes his head. "What kind of a childhood did you have? Tell me you've at least been to Disneyworld."

I mumble something incoherent.

"No way." He pets my head in sympathy. "You poor, deprived child. Your parents never took you?"

After my morning of absent-father-anguish and moody-mother-drama, Jace is treading on dangerous waters.

"My mom's been busy."

"And your dad?"

"Left," I say shortly. There's no need to elaborate. I don't want pity. Not from Jace.

He's silent for a while, probably trying to think of a line from the last sympathy Hallmarks card he read. Then: "Well, I guess we both have pretty shitty parents."

Okay, definitely not from a Hallmarks card.

At first I open my mouth to yell at him, to tell him he has no right to trash talk my parents like that.

But then I realize – he's right. He is so right. My dad really is a terrible father. He had thrown everything he loved away. He had left me, left me and my brother and my mom, left our _family_, all for some hooker living in a big, glamorous city.

So in the end, instead of shouting, all that comes out of my mouth is, "Yeah. Yeah, they really are."

I'm glad he's not here.

I don't even know his name.

…

The check-in volunteer glares at me as she peers up from behind her rectangular glasses. "You're late."

Thank you, Sherlock.

"Yeah…" I scratch my head awkwardly. "Sorry about that."

"Seriously doubt it," she mutters, scanning the roster for my name. "Clarissa Fray, right?"

I nod, wishing Jace was here to face the embarrassment with me. Instead, he had left to park the car. The volunteer girl sizes me up, and then reaches behind her to pull out a gigantic gray tshirt with the word VOLUNTEER printed on the front. I wrinkle my nose as she tosses the ugly tshirt to me.

"Sorry," she says. "We ran out of smalls. If you had come earlier…" Her mouth drops open.

Oh, goody.

"Sorry about the delay," Jace says, sliding up smoothly beside me. He tosses the car keys around in his hand and flashes the volunteer a bright smile. She practically drools. "We were caught in traffic. There was a car crash, and it took forever, you know what I mean?"

She nods vigorously, adjusting the crooked glasses on her nose. "Oh, yeah. I hate it when that happens, but, you know, you just got to live with it. And don't worry about being late. I got you covered."

_Oh, really now? _

"You are…?"

"Jace Wayland," Jace says, reaching behind her to pluck a random tshirt from the pile. She blushes a wild shade of red as he gives her a front row view of his chest. My teeth clench involuntarily.

Bitch.

"Well, Jace," she plasters on a sickenly sweet smile. "Hope you have fun volunteering. Just call me if you need any help. I'm Amatis!"

Jace only smiles, and then looks to me. "Ready?"

With much hesitation, I pull the shirt over my ratty tshirt. It hangs past my midthigh like a long dress.

Just my luck to look grotesquely horrifying in front of the hottest guy at school.

Jace wrinkles his nose. "Shit, that shirt is ugly."

I cringe and pull at the edges. Stupid Amatis. Stupid Institute.

"Although," Jace says, his eyes glinting, "if you take off your pants, the shirt would look a million times more appealing."

"Jace!"

"What?" He grins, tossing the shirt over his hoodie. "Come on. You know that shirt looks ridiculously oversized on you."

I huff and stop over to our booth, where people are in the middle of setting up. A random stick lies on the ground and I pick it up.

With a little too much force. I stumble and nearly fall on my butt.

Jace laughs and pats my head. "Calm down, cutie."

"I am calm!"

I am. Really. Jace snickering does not affect me in any way at all. Neither does his flirting with other girls.

_Wait. What did he just call me?_

He pries my fingers off from where they are clenched around the bar, smiling for some reason. "Stop being such an ice cube."

"Are you kidding?" I plant my hands on my hips. "I am _not_ an ice cube. I am the complete antithesis of an ice cube. I'm like, like Angelina Jolie. Wait. Guys think she's hot, right?"

Jace mulls it over for a few seconds. "Yeah, I guess. Her lips are gigantic. They look like puffed marshmallows."

Huh. Maybe I should have chosen Megan Fox.

I'm just about to grab the bar back from Jace when my phone buzzes.

_One new text message. Mom._

Guess she's finally come to her senses.

_Val wanted to make sure you arrived on time. Do not disappoint._

Oops.

Oh, well.

And of course, her one and only form of communication would be about Valentine.

"Val," Jace says, reading over my shoulder. I slap my phone shut. "That's Morgenstern, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately."

"You're calling him by his first name and corresponding with him…why?"

I just give him a look.

"You need a life," Jace says.

"I have a life," I hiss.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly disagreeing. "The fact that you have a relationship with our English teacher says otherwise."

Oh. My. God. That is just so wrong. On so many levels.

I nearly scream. "You drive me crazy sometimes, you know that?"

"Baby, I drive _all _the girls crazy."

Oh, jeez. I totally ran into that one. "At least my life contains more than just sex and girls."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong." He pokes my nose. "My life contains _soccer_, sex, and girls."

"The couple standing by the balloon booth," some middle-aged man hollers into the megaphone, pointing at us. "Quit flirting and get to work!"

My hands fly to my face in embarrassment as people from all over stop to stare. I peek through my fingers at Jace, who grins from ear to ear. He winks at me, swings the bar around in his hands, and saunters over to the booth to help.

…

Amazing.

That's all there is to describe carnivals. They are so much more than just screaming kids, dirty wrappers, popcorn, and cotton candy. Rides soar through the sky, the smell of sizzling barbeque floats in the air, and booths with crazy activities keep children continuously laughing.

The booth Jace and I have been working at for the past five hours (**Clarification: Five hours since the carnival itself started, not the volunteer shift**) is the balloon station. You would think that meant we blew up balloons and twisted them into shapes. But no, it was the station where we sucked helium from balloons to make our voices jump two octaves higher.

When Amatis and her friend arrive for the next shift, Jace and I almost collapse in exhaustion.

"Finally," Jace squeaks, voice still high. "I thought we'd never get a break."

I giggle. His voice is just too damn hilarious.

"Stop laughing," he demands. "It's not funny."

"You sound like a prepubescent boy."

He tackles me, hands digging under my ribs, and I shriek with laughter, unsuccessfully attempting to wriggle away. From the corner of my eye, I see Amatis eyeing me with blatant jealousy.

I smirk. Life may not be so bad after all.

Jace grins down at me, hair messily windblown. The sky is slowly darkening around us, and the lights flicker on, wrapping everything in a yellow haze. A child dashes past us, yelling, "Mom! Hurry up, the Ferris Wheel is starting!"

"You wanna?" Jace asks, tipping his head towards the ride.

I crane my head up, up, up, mouth dropping by the time my eyes find the top of the wheel. On pictures it looks tall; in person…I may have just pissed in my pants.

"Um," I gulp. But Jace is already gone, and I'm scrambling to catch up.

We catch the last cart, and, as the wheel begins moaning, my heart flutters – and not because of Jace. My stomach rolls as I peer over the edge of the basket, down tens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of feet to the ground. A vision of me tumbling out of the car and smashing to the ground in a pool of red, legs bent at funny angles, flashes momentarily in my mind, and I clutch the edge of the seat so hard my knuckles turn white.

Across from me, Jace smirks. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," I stammer out. "Nothing at all."

The cart creaks suddenly and I tense, my shoulders flying up and my legs squeezing together.

Jace laughs. "Scared?"

"No."

He reaches over and pulls me towards him. I squeak, surprised as well as frightened, for there's nothing for me to steady myself with, and crash into his side. Before I know it, he has an arm snaked around my shoulders, tightly hugging me to him.

"I'm not scared," I huff, voice annoyingly breathy.

"You sound out of breath."

Damn him and his exceptional observation skills. The heat of his skin, burning through our clothing into me, turns my brain into a mush of pudding as I scramble for a reasonable excuse.

"Well, the oxygen up here is far less compared to the amount at ground level," I say lamely.

"Sure," Jace grins, and I'm close enough to see the chip in his incisor. "But just in case you become scared, don't look down. Look up, or forward."

I do, and it takes my breath away.

The sky blushes pink and purple, the clouds scattered across it appear dark blue, and the sun blazes a scorching red. The array of colors is so spectacular my fingers itch for a palette and sketchbook.

"Wow," I breathe. "It's amazing."

Jace had been looking at the sunset, but now he turns to me, eyes focusing on my face. He doesn't reply, but for once, the silence feels peaceful, not awkward.

He lifts a hand and pulls one of my curls toward him. The brown dye is starting to wear off and in the light, it glows caramel, splattered with bits of brilliant red and streaks of the exact gold color of his eyes. "It's pretty," he says, voice subdued.

"Yeah," I agree. "I love sunsets. The view's like one from the top of a mountain."

"No," he says. "I meant your hair. It's pretty."

For the first time since I've met him, I'm speechless. Utterly and completely lost for words. I stare at him, mouth slightly open and eyes wide, mind still ringing from his words.

No one has said that in years. Not Simon, not Aline, not my own mother. They look at it, pitying it, dismissing it, making my life hell for it.

And Jace tells me it's pretty.

His eyes flicker to mine for a second and then slide away quickly. His Adam's apple bobs. "It's pretty," he says again, earnestly like I didn't believe him. "Really. It's pretty."

"Yeah, well not everyone thinks so." I shrug.

His mouth hardens a little. "Don't dye it anymore."

When he looks at me again, his eyes are clear – without the usual mocking and teasing. He looks at me as if for the first time he realizes that I'm not just a sophomore. That I'm not someone's little sister, not a freak, not the girl who threw up on him.

His expression says that maybe I'm something more. Something worth discovering.

He stares at me for a while longer, eyes passing over my eyes, my nose, my freckles, and my lips, and he smiles – a real smile, I realize with a shock. Not a teasing grin, a sarcastic, arrogant smirk, or a sexy, barely-there smile. A real smile, directed at me – before turning back to intently study the sunset.

I look at him in profile, at his jaw, his hair curling around his ears, the beginnings of a stubble, and my mouth curls up as well. My heart pounds and my hands sweat as I take a chance and lay my head lightly against his shoulder. In response, his arm tightens around me.

I think about tonight, the carnival, the rides, the sunset, but mostly I play the scene in my head, where he tells me my hair is beautiful, over and over and over.

We sit like that, side by side, staring off into the horizon until the Ferris Wheel churns to a stop.

**Next chapter's the second half of the carnival…the night half(;**

**Excited?**

**Don't forget to review, Review, and REVIEW!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Hey, hey. Wake up, sleepyhead."

Someone shakes my shoulder, and I slowly raise my head, blinking in confusion as the world clears around me. I'm in a car – a dark car – parked in front of a house on a street lit brightly by fluorescent lights. Beside me sits a guy who peers at me with an amused smirk on his face.

Jace.

"You look cute when you drool," he drawls.

I immediately snap to sitting position and wipe my mouth. No drool anywhere. Phew.

Rolling my eyes, I ask, "Why'd you wake me up? We don't have night shift. And, wait, where are we?"

"In front of my uncle's house," Jace replies. "You passed out as soon as we got to the car, but I was going to tell you – my uncle offered us a place to stay for the night."

"Here?"

"Yeah. Unless you'd rather sleep in the car. I, however, want to sleep on a nice, comfy bed."

The wind blows chilly cold as we make our way up the steps. Jace knocks once, and the door is thrown open, revealing a tall man with long brown hair. "Jonathan Christopher Lightwood Wayland!" He bellows, and Jace cringes. "I thought it was you."

"Hey Raziel," Jace mumbles. "And I told you, call me _Jace_."

Raziel brushes aside this comment and his eyes zero in on me. "And who is this pretty lady? You've finally brought your girl home for me to see." He smiles widely at me. "Jace never brings girls over here. You see, he's quite shy around girls."

I raise my eyebrows, high. Jace discreetly makes an X shape with his hands, eyes shooting warning daggers. I smirk, letting out a little laugh, and say, "Well, I feel very special then. But Jace and I are only stuck together because of this carnival thing."

Jace exhales softly. "We're friends."

Raziel looks a bit disappointed. "Only friends? But you're so sweet. Can't you be more of a man and just ask her out, Jonathan Christopher?" He slaps Jace's arm. "You need to macho up, my man."

"Well," Jace says awkwardly, face as red as hell. "Clary's really tired and she'd like to get some rest, so if you could show us where we'll be staying…"

"Right. Right." Raziel leads us down a hallway. "Here is where the lady will be getting her beauty sleep," he says, opening the door at the end of the hallway. "Which is also where her loyal lapdog will be guarding her as she sleeps."

"Loyal lapdog…?" I ask.

"Jace," he clarifies.

I peek inside. There's only one queen-sized bed.

Was he shitting me?

Raziel's face glows at the horrified look on my face. "Sorry, sweetheart, but the other rooms are all unavailable."

"I can sleep on the couch," I volunteer.

"Nonsense," he says. "How do you think that makes me feel? Like I'm a bad host! Besides, Jace doesn't mind, does he?"

"Course not," Jace says. He meets my eyes, and there's something dark and glittering in them that makes my insides take a steep dive. Something tells me that if I go into that room, we will be doing much more than just sleeping. "I'll be a _perfect_ gentleman."

"Now, in you go!" Raziel says, ushering the two of us inside. "And goodnight!"

He shuts the door.

Jace bursts out laughing.

"Um…" I say.

He holds up one finger as he bends over, gasping for air. After about a minute, he struggles to stand straight, a huge grin still plastered on his face. "Sorry," he gasps between fits of laughter. "I told him to do that."

"You _told_ him to make us sleep in the same bed?!"

"I told him you were a prude, and he said he would try to fix that."

I stare at him in half-anger, half-amusement and cross my arms. "Oh, you are such an ass, Jonathan Christopher Lightwood Wayland."

Now he ducks his head, groaning in embarrassment. "I did not tell him to do _that_."

"Well, Jonathan Christopher Lightwood Wayland," I say, "please go sleep in another room."

Jace shakes his head. "Can't. At least Raziel had that part correct. All the rooms are taken."

"By…?"

"By his daughters. They're in middle school and are currently…" he checks his watch. 11PM. "…in bed."

"It's fine. I'll sleep on the couch." I start for the door.

He grabs my arm. Warmth radiates from his hand all the way up my body. "C'mon, Clary. What is there to be afraid of?"

Um…everything?

In a desperate attempt to maintain my dignity, I try to crack a joke. "My virginity?"

Jace's face darkens. "You think I'm using my uncle to try to sleep with you? Clary. God. _No._ If I wanted to sleep with you, I wouldn't need my uncle to be my wingman. And trust me, I'm not going to force you to sleep with me. _I promise._ You don't think…you don't think I would do that to you, do you? You know that I would never, ever do something like that, right?"

"I do," I say quietly. And I really do. It surprises me: how much I completely and utterly trust Jace.

Some weight seems to be lifted off of his shoulders.

He nods, and then sits on the edge of the bed. "So…"

This is kind of awkward.

I make my way to the bed and sit next to him. "So…"

"If you're really uncomfortable," he says, "I'm perfectly fine with crashing on the floor."

Making Jace sleep on the hardwood floor would make me feel like shit. I shake my head and crawl under the covers. His eyes watch me, unsure, and for some reason, that hesitation causes a feeling of affection, of unexplainable care and gratitude – and maybe something more – to surge inside of me. I pat the spot next to me.

"It's fine," I say. "I'm tired, and I just want some sleep. We have an early shift tomorrow."

He lays down, careful not to bump into me. We lay like that, side by side, in silence, neither of us sleeping.

A question flirts with my mind, bothering me so much that I can't contain it any longer.

I know I will lose all dignity. All my dignity, if I ask.

I turn to the side and fold my arm under my head so I can watch him in profile. He turns his head, eyebrows raised in a question.

Then, before my lips can snap close, the words tumble out of my mouth: "Did you want to sleep with me?"

Jace groans, pulling the covers over his face. His response is muffled by the blankets.

"What?"

"I said," he mumbles, "if you appreciate your virginity, you'd better go to sleep before I change my mind."

I grin.

…

My back feels deliciously warm when my eyes open the next morning. I blink sleepily, confused for a moment at the unfamiliar mattress underneath me and at the bare white walls, unadorned with anything. Where are my paintings? And my miscellaneous post-its tacked up on the wall?

Slowly I remember – the carnival, the house, last night. I yawn, about to stretch my arms when I become aware of a heavy weight on my stomach. An arm, draped across my waist. Underneath the twisted blankets, I realize my legs are twined with someone else's.

My stomach rolls off of the bed and onto the floor.

I lie there, frozen. Sometime during the night, he must have rolled over to my side, and we had ended up in this position.

Holy. Shit.

I have slept – _I am sleeping – _with Jace Wayland. His body spoons mine, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist and our legs tangled. I can't move, can't extricate myself from his grasp without waking him up.

With my heart pounding so hard against my ribs, the alarm clock that goes off suddenly almost gives me a heart attack. Jace stirs, grumbles, and rolls slightly to whack the alarm off. Just as I breathe a sigh of relief, he rolls back again, pressing right up against me, and nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck, murmuring sleepily. My tshirt rides up in the back and I feel his bare skin burning hot on mine.

_Can't breathe._

Suddenly he jerks back as if lightning had shocked him. He scrambles away from me quickly, muttering, "Holy shit. Holy shit. _Holy shit._"

I roll onto my back and blink a few times. Luckily, he takes it as a sign that I've only just woke up.

"Rise and shine, princess," he says kind of unsteadily. His cheeks are flushed red, as if he had just run ten miles. He jumps off the bed, not looking at me and turning away.

He's worked up.

"Morning," I say, still lying lazily on the bed, staring at his back. His tshirt clings to his body in all the right places, showing his clean-cut shoulders, the slight curve of his bicep. He's not bulky and broad shouldered, not overly muscular like those dudes on _Sport Illustrated _with pecs that look like boobs. He's pure muscle, but a bit on the skinny side – lean, and agile, like a cat. His hair, mussed from sleep, makes my fingers itch with the want of running my fingers through it, and it makes my stomach tighten deliciously.

"Get up!" He throws his jacket at me. "We're gonna be late for cleanup shift."

"Hey Jace?" I ask, a teasing smile forming. "Why are you so red?"

He freezes mid-step and turns slowly on his heel to face me. "What?"

"Your face," I grin. "It's flaming red. Like the natural color of my hair."

He flushes even more. "The blankets were too hot, okay? Now get up. _Now_."

He pretends to lunge at me and I scramble out of bed, laughing.

Looks like the cat got his tongue.

…

"Now this," I say, dangling a banana peel from my gloved fingers, "is what I thought carnivals were like."

Jace makes a face. He gingerly lifts a half-eaten hotdog with one side smashed from the ground and drops it into the trash bags. "At least you had fun last night."

"Speaking of night," a new voice pipes up. We turn to see Amatis smiling behind us. "How did you sleep? We slept in the car, and now my back hurts like hell!"

"Perfect," I say flatly. "We slept in a bed."

"We slept in _one_ bed," Jace adds.

Amatis's eyes fly wide, and she chokes on her spit as she nods, before quickly scampering away. I punch Jace's arm. "What'd you do that for? Now she thinks we're sleeping together."

He grins cockily. "Well, we _did_ sleep together…"

"Yeah, but she think we…you know."

"Had sex? It's okay to say it, Clary. It's just a word."

"I'm not afraid to say the word," I scoff, rolling my eyes.

Jace sets down his trash bag. "Then say it."

"Sex."

"Louder."

"_Sex_."

"_Louder._"

"_SEX!"_ I scream.

Dozens of people swerve and stare at me, aghast.

I should just go die in a hole.

"Sorry," Jace calls, smiling winsomely. "I'm just trying to teach my little friend here how to control her raging hormones."

I resist the urge to smack him across the face. "Oh, Jace. Sometimes I just love you so much that I wish you would die."

He slings an arm around my shoulders as we walk towards the pile of stacked trash bags. "I _knew_ you were hiding something all along. You're secretly in love with me."

"Ha," I snicker, and his arm squeezes my shoulders good-naturedly. "Good joke."

But maybe…maybe he had hit the bullseye.

**They will kiss. I promise. Don't you worry.**

**So tell me…were you satisfied with this chapter? Or were you hoping for some hardcore hookups to happen? (;**

**Either way, review please!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry for the wait! And thank you for all the reviews!**

**Chapter Thirteen**

The end of the world has arrived. Literally.

Valentine stands in front of the classroom, beaming as he reads from a series of printed emails. "'How amazing the performance was!'" He reads, smiling grandly. "'The actors were outstanding, the props were fabulous, and the play was very well executed. This was a very constructive learning experience for our students.'"

The Juniors in the class glow with pride.

They don't know what's coming.

I overheard Valentine's plan this morning, while my mom talked to him on the phone.

I cringe as he continues speaking. "In fact, we performed so well that Mr. Starkweather would love for us to put on a school wide performance!"

Instantly the beaming faces morph into pained cries.

"Are you joking?"

"No way."

"You can't be serious!"

Valentine holds up his hand for silence. "Of course I'm serious. This is an excellent opportunity for you to shine. The freshmen loved your performance, and I'm sure the rest of the school will too. You'll be the talk of the day."

"Talks of embarrassment," Jonathan mutters behind me.

I'll say.

Oblivious to our agony, Valentine rubs his hands together in glee. "So, we now need to prepare harder. This needs to be a masterpiece. Actors in Act IV, Scene IV, meet with me. You guys were a bit weak and could use some improvement."

I flip through my script, sighing in relief when Juliet has no lines in that scene. I grab a paintbrush to join the people in the props committee to help paint the tomb backdrop. At least today I could do something I liked.

I'm on my knees, in the middle of fixing the lousy spiderwebs someone had painted when a person plops down next to me to inspect my work. He leans over me, his blond hair tickling my shoulder, and when he speaks, his breath skims my skin like soft kisses, making my stomach curl tightly.

"Nice," Jace comments. "However, I'd use a slightly darker shade of gray. You can barely detect the spiderweb with this color."

I roll my eyes. "Newsflash: spider webs are transparent."

He jostles my shoulder with his, and the sudden memory of him pressed against me flashes behind my eyes. A flush floods my cheeks pink.

"Constructive criticism is always good," he says.

"When it comes from someone who actually knows what they're criticizing," I tease. "And I know you aren't here to display your artistic talent, so what do you want?"

Jace's mouth twists into a smile. "Cutting straight to the chase, I see," he muses. "You know me so well. Will you come to the soccer game tomorrow?"

"So I can see you looking hot and sweaty?"

"I know who _I_ want to get hot and sweaty with," he winks, and, if it's even possible, my face flushes an even darker red when the image of a dark room with the two of us pressed against each other flashes involuntarily through my mind. I feel the heat spreading from my face to the tips of my ears, and all the way down my neck and past my collarbone. He grins, eyes darting down for a second to follow my blush, and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ears, his fingers intentionally brushing the skin behind. My breath becomes dangerously shallow. I think I may have gasped.

Jace smirks when he sees my burning red ears. "I was just hoping you'd go," he says innocently. "It's an honor to be invited by _the _star of the team, you know."

I roll my eyes. "Egotistical much?"

"Well, I thought you might like it." He plucks the paintbrush from between my fingers, making sure to brush his fingers softly against mine, and twirls it in his hand. "I made you go on the Ferris Wheel and you loved it."

Because I was squished against you.

But I don't say that. I don't, partly because I'm afraid to, and partly because Seelie's standing behind us with a murderous look etched into her face. Something tells me she's overheard our entire conversation.

"Hi, Seelie," I say cheerfully. "How's it going?"

"Bitch," she growls. She looks at Jace, bursts into tears, and then runs off, slamming the classroom door behind her. The bang startles our whole class, and everyone freezes for an awkward minute.

"I'll take care of it," Jace sighs, pushing himself to a standing position. He looks down at me. "Just think about it, will you? I'd really appreciate it if you would come."

He strides out of class, after Seelie.

I'm surprised when I don't feel any jealously curling in the pit of my stomach. None at all.

In fact, a surge of affection swells within me. He's compassionate, not the player I'd thought he was. He didn't just leave girls hanging. Or at least tried not to.

And I wouldn't try to leave him hanging either.

I don't think I could, even if I tried my hardest.

…

The line for Starbucks stretches all the way to the door, so that by the time Aline and I have made our way to the store, we end up standing on the outside sidewalk, scurrying out of the way every so often as annoyed passersby push through the queue in their mad dash for their destination.

"So, about Raphael," I say to Aline.

"'Scuse me," an old lady grumbles as she jostles her way between us. Her handbag hits me in the boobs.

Aline giggles. "Sorry, what?"

"How's it going with Raphael?" I ask again, massaging my injury. I do it discreetly, fearful that onlookers may mistake my rubbing as something else.

"Can you stop that?" Aline gestures to my hand. "It looks like you're groping yourself."

I drop my hand quickly and glare at her. She didn't have to put it like _that_.

"But about Raphael," she says, getting this dreamy look across her face. A small blush colors her cheeks. "He's just so…perfect for me, even though we're almost polar opposites."

"He's socially awkward; you flirt a lot. He's into academics; you're into dance. He's a nerd –_"_

"_A geek,_" Aline hisses. "There's a difference. He's a geek. He loves books, and I love that he loves books."

I shrug, knowing not to argue any further. "I guess opposites do attract each other."

Her head bobs up and down. "We get along really well too. He helps me a lot in English class by explaining and interpreting the literature. That's why I have an A in the class."

A month ago, bringing up English classes in general would have made my face blacken into a scowl and my lips pucker in distaste, but now, nothing sour comes to mind. In fact, I even feel a tiny flicker of excitement when I think of English class and…Jace.

Oh jeez. I am really, really in trouble.

I smile widely. "Dude, that's great!"

She shrugs modestly and pokes me. "So, how's things going with the hottest guy at school?"

I raise my eyebrows. "So you think Jace is hotter than Raphael?"

"I _know_ Jace is hotter than Raphael. Raphael's hot in the geekish way, but Jace is just plain, smoking hot."

Yeah, agreed.

"Thought so," she smirks.

"Wait, did I just say that out loud?" I shake my head. Something has been definitely wrong with me lately.

Aline suddenly grabs a hold of my sleeve, her eyes stretching wide and her voice dropping to a whisper. "Tall, bitchy sister coming this way."

I whirl around as Isabelle Lightwood and her boyfriend, Alec, saunter out of Starbucks. I duck my head quickly, my hair falling in waves to hide my face. Too late.

Catching sight of me, Alec strolls over and flings an arm around my shoulders, running his fingers down my arm suggestively. "Hey, pretty lady."

I struggle against his tight grip. "Can you get some control over your boyfriend?" I snarl at Isabelle, who's standing passively aside, watching the whole scene. Bored, like those gorgeous girlfriends who know that their boyfriends would never go for someone plain like me.

Isabelle stares, her mouth dropping open, and then she starts laughing hysterically.

"What?" I cry indignantly. "You think this is funny?"

Alec shoots me a wicked grin and then loops an arm around Isabelle's waist, drawing her flush against him.

"How 'bout a kiss, sweetheart?" He drawls dramatically, with a wink in my direction.

Isabelle chokes, and then brutally shoves him away, shrieking, "_Ewww_, Alec!" She furiously brushes invisible specks of cooties, I guess, and straightens. "Sorry, Clary," she laughs, "but we're not the incest type."

A tidal wave of embarrassment floods through me, turning me into one big, red tomato. I blush so hard I think I may have turned purple, like an eggplant.

The siblings are still chuckling as they walk away to their car.

**Every review means a lot, and they motivate me to continue writing the story:)**

**It's a short chapter, so I promise Chapter Fourteen will be up next week! **


	14. Chapter 14

**CLOCKWORK PRINCESS CAME OUT. AND IM DYINGGGGGGGGGGG AS I READ IT. SO MANY FEELS. WILL. TESSA. JEM. EVEN GABRIEL LIGHTWOOD. **

**Chapter Fourteen**

"You guys are so pathetic," I grumble as Aline and Raphael face off in a mad game of crossword puzzles. They're competing to see who can finish the fastest, and Aline's face is furrowed in concentration. Meanwhile, Raphael leans back, hands linked behind his neck, face fixed in a smug smile.

When Aline hadn't appeared outside my fourth period English when lunch began, I had had a strong suspicion she would be here, in the library, with none other than the famous Raphael.

It was a miracle of sorts. I'd tried dragging her to the library countless times, to no avail.

"Clary, come help me!" She wails in frustration. "Raph is kicking my ass!"

"Shhhh!" The librarian hisses, shooting Aline daggers. Aline rolls her eyes, causing Raphael to choke, and urgently waves me over.

"So, Snobby English Nerd," she says, "help me. What's a seven-letter word that starts with 'I' and means 'evil sex demon?'"

"Incubus," I say automatically.

Raphael shoots me a look of surprise. I make a face. I'm in eleventh grade honors English for a reason.

"A ten-letter word that means 'sexual interest or lustfulness,'" Aline barks at me again. "It starts with 'L' and ends in 'ous.'"

"Lascivious," I say, after thinking for a few seconds. "What the _hell_ is wrong with your crossword?"

"It's a sexual crossword," Raphael says, his cheeks tinged with a faint shade of red.

_Sexual what?_

I had no idea those even existed.

"_O-_kay," I say slowly, backing away from their table. "I think I'll leave you two to have fun with your little sex game."

Raphael splutters, turning red. The last thing I see as I walk out of the library, laughing, is Aline flipping me the bird.

…

"That will be a total of $4.50," the lunch lady says as she sticks her hand out for my money. Subduing a sigh, I fork over my five dollar bill and grab my food. It's just mac n' cheese with chocolate milk.

Such a ripoff.

I maneuver around tables filled with laughing students, only to find that some freshmen have taken over my usual table. Aline, probably still flirting with Raphael, hasn't arrived yet, and I'm too tired to sum up enough energy to kick the little kids out of my seat. Instead, I sink down into the nearest table. Aline can find me anyway. When she's done with Raphael, that is.

I've just stuffed a forkful of the disgusting, gooey food into my mouth when a snarky voice sneers behind me, "You're in my seat, you piece of dipshit."

Simon tosses an apple in his hand.

I glare at him with hatred, my lip curling in disgust. "Didn't last time teach you a lesson?"

"Ooh," he smirks. "Ginger's getting angry. Did you not hear what I said? Get. Up. And. Fuck. Off."

I place my fork down, ready to leave, but red-hot defiance rages through me at those words. Why should I listen to him? I'm not meek. I'm not an animal he can boss around. I've suffered too much from him, and I shouldn't give him any pleasure from it.

I cross my arms and sit back down. "Make me."

It's moments like these that get me in trouble. Maybe _I_ didn't learn from last time either.

The memory of sticky, fizzing soda washes over my skin, but I push it back, forcing myself to forget it.

Simon's eyes fly wide with shock and fury.

Oh, shit. What did I just do?

His eyes narrow menacingly. "Oh, I'll make you all right. And this time, where's your precious little Jace going to be?"

"I don't need him to protect me." But even as I snarl those words, a feeling of terror makes me want to sink into the ground. Jace and the whole soccer team are away from school today, preparing for the big game he invited me to.

Jace isn't here.

"You're screwed," Simon cackles. "No one's going to come save you today."

He laughs, bending down in my face. His breath reeks of garlic and rotting vomit, and those tiny, beady eyes burn into mine. I see my reflection in his glasses, all red and angry.

"So go on," he jeers. "Scream for help. Cry for Jace. You're precious, little Jace Wayland. It makes me sick just to think about the two of you. What did you do to get him so wrapped around your finger? What favors? What dark, dirty secret are you hiding?"

"I bet he's going to rip out my guts when he comes back," he says, "but I'm not scared. Nothing scares me now. If I want to hurt him, I'll aim for where it'll hurt the most. You." He smiles. "It's like killing two birds with one stone."

I'm trembling so hard with both anger and terror that I grab onto the edge of the table to keep steady.

"Do it, Clary. Scream for him. I dare you. Don't be so pathetic."

And just like that, I hit him. My fist flies up and punches him directly in the eye with all the anger I've kept pent up within me.

Simon rears back, screaming. His hands clutch blindly at his eye. Tears stream down his face as he looks up at me from his knees.

All hell breaks loose in the cafeteria as students rush to see the commotion, climbing on tables, pushing aside others, just to see this spectacle. Me, punching Simon.

It makes me sick. This whole thing makes me sick.

Even if I've dreamed about punching the living daylights out of Simon, I never wanted to see it in reality. I can't believe I did this. I can't believe I've just physically assaulted another student.

This isn't who I am, or who I want to be.

That's why, when Principal Starkweather calls me to his office, I say without hesitation, "Suspend me."

**Oh no…**

**REVIEW PLEASE! Jace will be in the next chapter, I promise:)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

The thing about being suspended is that after the initial shock wears off, suspension becomes equivalent to a shorter version of winter break. Sure, there's the furious yelling from parents, and the walk of shame out of the office with dozens of students peering at you like you've grown five heads. But the truth is, suspension isn't too bad.

Principal Starkweather banned me from attending school for three days. I've spent the time lounged on the couch, stuffing mint chocolate chip ice cream down my throat, and watching reruns of _Friends._

In fact, _Friends _cheers me up so much that I almost forget I've been suspended, until Valentine comes over for dinner on the second night. He stares at me with those judgmental, beady eyes, and as hard as I try to hold his stare, I eventually crack and drop my eyes.

The look in his eyes says, "You punched someone in the face. You _hurt_ someone."

Dinner is silent and uncomfortable. My mom and Valentine carry on pleasant chatter, but when the conversation turns to me, her words are forced.

"Valentine," she says stiffly. "Even though Clary obviously doesn't care about school, can you tell her what they did in class today?"

Wow, Mom.

I munch on a leaf of my salad. "What if I already know?" I say with just a smudge of attitude.

"Clary!" My mom gasps. "Go to your room immediately. I will not tolerate this behavior in my house, especially not in front of Valentine."

"I'm not four, Mom," I sneer, anger getting the best of me. "Besides, I know what we did in class. We worked on the play. What else would we do?"

Mom turns to Valentine, who shrugs sheepishly. She looks almost…disappointed.

Disappointed that Valentine didn't prove me wrong.

I almost can't control the red-hot rage that pounds through me. I don't understand why she's acting this way, like she's hellbent on making me miserable. Why does she want me to suffer? Why doesn't she try to see things from _my_ perspective?

She hasn't even asked _why_ I hit Simon. She doesn't know how much Simon bullies me, how much I'm humiliated, how Goddamned fucked up my life is. All she cares about, all she can think about, is herself.

And right now, she doesn't even try to hide her thoughts. Her face says it all: she's ashamed of me. She's mortified to be known as the troublemaker's mother, to have parents stare at her like she's a bad parent. She's afraid that I'll give Valentine a bad impression of her.

But she doesn't even think about me for a second. If she had, she would be asking if I was okay. She would be threatening to call Simon's parents. And she definitely wouldn't have been sneaking behind my back with my English teacher.

I slam my fork down. "You know what? You just made me lose my appetite. And this salad you've made? It tastes like shit from the gutter."

As soon as those sentences cross my mouth, I know I've crossed a line. Hurt flickers across my mom's face, and part of me wants to snatch my words back.

But I'm out the door before she can say anything and before I can apologize, because I hate myself for feeling sorry.

My legs are pumping underneath me, moving, running, flying, over solid ground. I'm running almost blindly through the streets, trying desperately to escape the world behind me.

By the time I've reached the park, my lungs are dying for air. I slow down to a jog and then lean against a tree, hands on my knees, gasping. As I straighten, blood rushes to my head and my vision blackens for a few seconds. When I finally recover, I realize I'm staring down at the field, where someone is kicking a ball in the air.

My anger suddenly dissipates, and I'm suddenly out of breath again.

I watch Jace dribble the ball down the field, snare the ball with his toe, and toss it up into the air. Then, as my jaw drops, I watch as he jumps and twists himself in midair, his foot colliding solidly with the ball. It's amazing and so, so, so incredibly hot.

Then, I become aware of two things.

First, thousands of bugs are probably crawling their way into my open mouth, bathing in the collecting puddle of drool that's formed.

Second, the soccer ball is heading straight for my face.

Before the ball can inflict massive damage, my hands fly up and catch it. Then, as I try to camouflage against the truck of the tree, Jace jogs up the hill, forehead gleaming with sweat.

Perspiration has never looked so good.

"Hey," he says. "What're you doing here?"

"Hi." I shift awkwardly on one foot. "Sorry. I'm not stalking you. I mean, I wasn't, like, sitting here for hours watching you play. In fact, I just got here a few minutes ago and stopped to catch my breath. And then two seconds later, this ball comes flying for my head, so I caught it. I didn't know it was yours, or else I probably wouldn't have caught it. I probably would have thrown it in the gutter even. Oh, wait. I didn't mean that. I really didn't mean that at all – What's so funny?"

Jace is snickering, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and his mouth twisting up adorably as he tries to keep a straight face. "Nothing," he chuckles. "You're cute when you get nervous."

"What? I'm not nervous."

He rolls his eyes. "So, I'm guessing you were impressed?"

Oh, he _so_ knew people had been watching. "Showoff," I huff. "The only people you managed to impress are those ladies over there." I jut my chin at three fifty-year-old women, who are eyeing Jace appreciatively and walking by at snail speeds.

He grimaces and leans closer, making the hairs on the back of my neck shiver. "I think I impressed more than that."

I snort unattractively. "I'm sure thousands of girls swooned and fainted at your game."

"You didn't come to the game," he says a bit accusingly. His ego's hurt.

I grin, because I know it will annoy him. "You looked for me?"

He narrows his eyes, stepping closer. "_Every_ girl I've asked has gone to my games."

"I was busy," I say. Busy with suspension, that is.

"So I heard." Jace leans back a bit, running his eyes over me with a look of approval. "I'm impressed you actually had the gut to do it."

"I didn't do anything," I say innocently. "Karma bit him in the ass, that's all."

He grins, but the smile fades quickly. "You should report him, you know. You shouldn't have to go through this by yourself. I can't always look out for you, and the administration would be happy to help."

I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me. This is what I need to hear: the words my mother was supposed to say, but never did.

"Thanks, Jace," I say softly. "Maybe I will."

But I know I won't. Simon is a sly bastard, and things could get messy for me if the admin became involved.

"So," Jace says suddenly, as if sensing my discomfort. He swipes the soccer ball away from me. "Wanna learn?"

"To play soccer?" I squeak. With him? The god of all soccer players?

Jace smiles and flicks his head towards the fields, his blond hair gleaming golden in the light of the setting sun. "Come on. It'll be fun."

Like always, he leads the way without waiting for my answer, knowing that I'll follow. I shake my head, smiling to myself. Oh, that arrogant, cocky boy.

Minutes later, I'm wondering why I ever agreed to this. The ball seems to hate my ass. I've missed it twice while trying to run and kick it, and Jace's feet are so fast and nimble I can never steal the ball away.

"Stand like this," Jace demonstrates, now teaching me the proper stance of a goalie. His knees are bent, he's on his toes, and his ass sticks out slightly. And damn, it is one fine ass.

Unfortunately, the position isn't as flattering for me as it is for him, and I look like I'm sitting over the toilet, about to take a dump.

"Spread your feet out a bit more," he instructs, reaching for me. I spring back like a scared cat, and his eyebrows furrow. "What's the matter?"

"I'm covered in a layer of grime and sweat and dirt, and I smell like I've just come out of the boys' locker room after a football game," I lament, gesturing to my shirt, which is sticking to my body. Luckily, I had been wearing basketball shorts in the house before I stormed out.

Jace's mouth twists in that peculiar way when he's trying to hide a smile, but I can't tell what I've said that was funny. Maybe he finds sweaty, stinky women attractive…?

"And I probably reek of dog piss," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you don't seem to mind." He reaches for me again, and once again, I dodge out of his reach.

"Maybe I do," I mock. "You smell like skunk spray."

"Oh, no. You did not just…"

"Oh? Is the old man going deaf?"

I pinch my nose and furiously fan the air around him.

"You little…take that back."

"Make me."

And suddenly, we're chasing each other around the park, screaming insults, hollering and teasing, laughing and shrieking, until the sun goes down.

…

_Shit._

It's Friday. Which means…school.

I take a deep breath, fist my hand in my backpack strap, and step out of my mom's car. Before accelerating off, she shoots me an angry, pointed look, as if to say, "don't punch anyone again."

As if.

Aline immediately scouts me out and sticks to me the whole time, shielding me from the stares of others, until the bell rings for first period.

As the day progresses, I realize I've transformed into some kind of goddess incarcerate. People sneak furtive glances from under lowered lashes and ducked heads. Some stare at me outright with a look of awe. I hear the whispered words, "that's her?!" countless times.

Size isn't all that matters, bitches.

When I finally spot Simon in the halls, he ducks his head down, avoiding me. Like that'll happen any time soon.

I stalk up to him, noticing with amusement that the halls seem to freeze, and that everyone draws in a collective gasp. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

Seriously, people are so desperate for some high school drama.

Simon's left eye is completely black and blue. The skin is puffy and swollen, his eye nearly shut. The look fits him, but it also makes my gut twist in shame and guilt. Part of me wants to tell Simon that I am sorry, but flashes of previous humiliations run through my mind.

Water bucket. Name calling. Soda spilling.

After all I've suffered, he deserves this.

Grinning, I wink and tap my eye cheekily. "Lookin' good, Four Eyes."

He lunges at me, and his friends fight hard to restrain him as they shoot me dark glances.

Feeling bold, I blow him a kiss and saunter away.

Jace would be so proud of me.

…

The halls are mostly empty as I swing my Holt Literature textbook in my hand, lazily ambling towards English class. I pull out my cellphone and stare at the time, feeling impatient that it's only been three minutes after the late bell. This tardiness facade is starting to become old, and I think of arriving on time from now on.

I've just placed my hand on the doorknob, when someone brutally wrenches me back and slams me against the wall.

"Seelie," I sneer, pretending not to feel the sting of pain. "What a surprise."

Her eyes narrow in unconcealed hatred. "Don't start acting like you're the shit, just because you punched someone."

A corner of my mouth flicks up in a taunting smile. "Maybe I'm acting like 'the shit' because I have something you don't."

Okay, not really. I don't have Jace at all. But knowing Seelie, this is bound to get her panties twisted in frenzy of rage and jealousy.

She attempts a sickening laugh, her mouth pulling into a forced, leering smile. "You think he'd actually want _you_?"

I only smile cryptically, plastering the best 'I've just got laid' smile I can muster on my face. At least, I hope that's what a post-sex expression looks like.

Her face turns splotchy red and she digs one fingernail into my shoulder. "You stole Jace away from me," she threatens in an icily calm voice that sends shivers down my spine. "Don't think I'm going to ever forget that."

It takes everything I have to maintain a brave face. I'm still shaking on the inside when the door slams shut behind her.

**So Clary's a bit of a bitch. But I think she deserves to get Simon back this once.**

**Also…Seelie, that evil girl.**


	16. Chapter 16

**You guys will love this chapter. Enjoy :)**

**Chapter Sixteen**

"No. No, no, no, _no._" Valentine runs a hand through his hair, sighing. "I told you to leap at him, not knock him over. Mercutio attacks Tybalt but he doesn't kill him with one stroke."

Meliorn, who's acting as Tybalt, pulls himself up from the floor, rubbing his butt with a wince. He glares at Kyle, who's grinning smugly. "Yeah, Kyle," he mumbles. "Watch it."

Smirking, Kyle launches himself at Meliorn again, and this goes on until the end of the period while the class watches in amusement. When the bell finally rings, Valentine, wiping sweat off his forehead, calls me and Jace to his desk.

For a second we stare at each other, confused. Were we in trouble?

"Sorry I took so long today," Valentine says. "I didn't get to work with you two personally, but there's this one portion of the play that could use a bit more improvement."

"Don't tell me it's the bed portion," I blurt before I can stop myself.

Amusement twinkles in his eyes. "In fact, it is. You guys are fine throughout the whole play, but during that part, you guys are as stiff as pieces of cardboard." Valentine chuckles at his own simile and I roll my eyes at Jace. English teachers these days…

"What I'm suggesting," he continues, "is that you two spend a little extra effort on that part. Maybe it would be more comfortable if you two practiced that scene more often, even though the classroom has no bed and we can't practice it here."

"So where would we practice it?" I ask.

"I was thinking at somebody's house."

Uhm. What?

"And whose house might that be?"

"Well, I would say my house, but I'm afraid that is against school policy," Valentine slides a glance at me. _Your house. Offer your house_, his eyes urge.

Holy.

I throw my hands up, exasperated. "Sure, why not my house, since you practically live there anyway."

Val's eyes bulge, and he looks frantic. Oh, right. Jace doesn't know anything.

Oops, my bad.

With a slightly confused smile, Jace says, "My house is fine." He turns to me. "Tonight at eight?"

Still irritated, I find myself automatically nodding, and it isn't until the door shuts behind him that I realize what I've just gotten myself into.

Me. Jace. His house. His bed.

Alone.

And I'd be lying if I say I'm not excited.

…

I'd always known the Lightwoods were rich, but it doesn't hit me until my mom pulls up at their gate. The two-story house – _mansion_, actually – towers over the rest of the small houses in the enclosed circle. Three cars are parked in the driveway, and as I step out of the car, I see Alec and Isabelle pulling out of the garage in their BMW.

They catch sight of me, we lock eyes for a second, and then they're zooming down the street, probably off to some party.

"I'll be over in an hour," Mom calls as she drives off.

Even the walk up to the front door fills me with trepidation. My heart won't stop skittering, even though it's only Jace. Jace, my friend, who can make me laugh even at the worst of times. Not Jace Wayland, the untouchable, unreachable, most popular jock at school. Just Jace.

I knock twice, holding my breath and clutching my sides nervously, until footsteps pound from inside and the door flies open, bright yellow light spilling out into the darkness. Jace stands in the doorway, smiling and barefoot, in a clean white shirt and dark Levi jeans.

"Hey," he says, stepping aside. "Come on in."

"Did you just shower?" I ask as I kick off my shoes. Parts of his blond hair are stuck together and they shine and glisten. I take a deep breath, trying to be as oblivious as possible, because, holy shit, does he smell good.

"Yeah," Jace answers. "I just came back from soccer practice. Do you want anything to eat?"

"I just ate," I say, and he shrugs, heading into the kitchen. My eyes grow wide as I take in the surroundings. The inside is even more grand than the outside, with various soccer trophies showcased on the shelf spanning the walls of the living room. A crystal chandelier hands from the ceiling above the huge dining room table, the library boasts bookshelves that rise to the ceiling, and a grand piano sits in the middle of the family room. I can almost imagine Jace bent over it, fingers flying over the keys, deep in concentration.

"Do you want to play?" Jace reappears just as I'm about to run my fingers over the glossy wood.

I press down on a key and the low rumble rings and echoes throughout the house. "Not if you want the neighbors calling for the police," I joke, and he laughs. "Do you play?"

He plucks a strawberry from the bowl of fruit in his hand, motioning to the piano. "I started piano even before I started soccer, so it's been about ten years now, but I stopped taking lessons a few years back. Now I mostly just play when I have time and occasionally make my own pieces."

"You're a composer?"

"I wouldn't say that," he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just mess around. Anyways, want to head up to my room?"

We ascend the curving staircase with pictures of Jace, Isabelle, and Alec as kids hung along the walls. Some are portraits, some are candid, and others are wild and captured on the spur of the moment. I stop at one where Jace and Alec are chasing Isabelle in the park with some bugs in their hands, and Isabelle's running and screaming. Their eyes are small and crinkled with laughter, their faces exuberant and carefree. They look infinite.

When Jace leads me into a room at the end of the hallway, it takes me a second to realize that we've arrived in his room. The walls are completely bare, except for a few college flags and soccer flyers. The bed is meticulously made, the desk bare, the bookshelf neat and tidy.

"Wow," I say. "This makes me feel like I live in a pigsty. Where are the messy clothes? Worn boxers? Oh, let me guess, is there a moldy pizza under the bed?"

Jace chokes on a strawberry. He shoots me a guilty look and slowly pulls out a box of bakery bread from under the bed. "That was insane," he mutters. "How on earth did you know that?"

"There _had_ to be a catch," I say. "No one's room is this neat." I walk over to his sparsely decorated wall and finger the Cornell flag hanging above the bed. "Is this where you want to go?"

"Yeah," he says. "Their soccer program is really good."

"Well, you don't need to worry. You're amazing at soccer."

Jace scoffs from behind me. "Not when it really matters."

Letting go of the flag, I turn to face him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, rolling his shoulders in a defeated gesture. "Whenever colleges come to scout me, I just get super nervous for some reason. I don't know why – it's not like I don't do well under pressure. Like, I do pretty well at games and championship tournaments, but when those college admission officers come, I just can't seem to play to the best of my ability."

"I think maybe it's because you have too much pressure to perform well, and you only get that one chance for that one college," I suggest, not knowing what else to say. "Just try to forget that they exist, like they're not even there. Or, actually, imagine them in their underwear."

Jace grins. "I tried. Not the best idea, though. I almost lost the ball that time because it was so nasty."

Laughing, I fall back against Jace's bed, sinking down into the soft mattress, and stare up at the light green ceiling. Raising an eyebrow, I turn my head to look at Jace, who's now sitting crosslegged on the floor, next to the bed.

"So where's the model poster?" I tease.

He looks confused for a second.

"You know, the one of some girl in a bikini? Don't most guys have them posted right above their beds so they can stare at her boobs right before they sleep and right after they wake up?"

Jace grins. "Actually, I don't have one, but would you like to pose as one? I'll get the butler downstairs to take pictures and blow them up to scale. He's a great photographer."

I flush and stare up at the bare ceiling again. Huh, so maybe not all guys had those.

But Sebastian had had one, and I remember his friends coming over and salivating at the sight of her body.

"So I take that silence as a yes?" Jace tries hopefully. I scowl, and he grins cheekily. "Relax, I don't even have a butler."

I rise on one elbow to reach out and swipe at him, when something flashes in my peripheral vision. It's a silver chain that hangs from the knob on the bedside lamp. I reach over and run my finger down the side, over the tiny beads. Although unadorned, it's simplistic and plain. Pretty.

I can't imagine Jace wearing jewelry, not even this chain, so it's probably not his. Seelie must have left it on her last trip to his house.

Fearing I'd appear like a jealous girlfriend – not that I _was_ his girlfriend – I smirk and tease, "I didn't know Jace Wayland owned jewelry."

He grins right back at me. "That is not jewelry. It's bling. It makes me look manly."

I pretend to choke and Jace, narrowing his eyes, snatches the necklace from my hand. "You know, like those rappers who wear muscle tanks and bling and baseball caps. They look hella sick."

"Like you can pull that off," I scoff.

But even as I say that, my brain is already spinning as I picture him as a gangsta. I swallow as I imagine Jace wearing a tight muscle shirt that shows off his nice biceps, with a hat flipped backwards on his head, flattening out his hair. It's enough to make my knees shake, even if I'm on the bed.

One glance at Jace, and my throat dries. He's staring at me intensely, his eyes darkening. His gaze roams hungrily over my face, stopping at my lips. Suddenly the room feels too hot.

I lick my chapped lips.

As if in agony, Jace tears his eyes away from my lips and stares down at his hands. When he speaks, his voice is a low, husky growl that makes me feel warm everywhere, even _down there._

"I wear it for good luck. I tend to do well on the field when I wear the chain."

I peer at the chain with renewed interest and reach for it, to see what's so special, but Jace pulls out of reach, a taunting smile spreading across his face.

I roll my eyes, frustrated, and slide to the edge of the bed. I lean down, not stopping until, with a jolt, I realize I'm practically on his lap. When I feel his chest brush against my arm, I almost fall off the bed.

And that's when he kisses me.

As I'm leaning forward, eyes on the chain, he ducks his head and brushes his lips against mine, softly, gently, seductively. Just the tiniest brushes of his lips, and I'm gone, lost in the sensation of his warmth and just _him_. I think I may have gasped, because the next moment, Jace has me backed against the bed, gently pushing me down into the mattress. My hands are fisted in his hair, pulling, tugging, trying to get him closer, and he crawls on top of me, slowly lowering his body so that every part of us touches – lips, chest, legs.

His tongue licks my lips, and without resistance, I open to let him in. It feels so good, _he_ feels so good, his hands on my body, fingers digging into my hips, sliding along my back, pulling my shirt up. I'm embarrassed when I moan as our stomachs brush against each other, skin on skin, but Jace seems even more turned on, because he increases the intensity, breaking apart and kissing a red-hot line down my neck, biting, sucking, licking at my skin.

I'm writhing below him, and he's pushing against me. When he lifts his head and stares down at me, his eyes are shining bright gold, his lips swollen from the roughness of the kiss. He trails a finger down my cheek, whispering, "I want you."

I think I may have whimpered, because the next thing I know, my hands are fisted in his shirt, pulling him completely against me so that we're aligned, and we're kissing each other with brutal force. As if they have a mind of their own, my hands slip under his shirt, pressing against his hard stomach, and he moans into my mouth.

The sexual tension has been building up for so long now, and part of me isn't surprised how we're now trying to rip each other's clothes off. I've wanted him for too long, and having him is more than I have ever imagined.

His fingers are skimming the skin along my stomach, trailing upwards, both of us panting for air, when suddenly the chime of bells rings throughout the house. We freeze, his hands in my hair, my hands in his shirt, and then in a split second, spring apart. I glance at the time.

"Shit," I grumble, trying desperately to fix my messy hair. "It's my mom."

Jace takes a couple of deep breaths, shakes out his body, and squirms a little. He gives me a slightly awkward smile and mumbles, "Be right back." He shuffles to the bathroom and reemerges a few seconds later, now walking normally.

"You okay?" I ask innocently, a smile curling around my lips. Damn if I say he didn't turn me on either.

He gives me a look that could kill, but his eyes dance with a burning fire. He grabs my hand as we walk down the stairs, his fingers slipping through mine as they tangled together. "Great practice, huh?"

"Oh, definitely."

We grin at each other like idiots, and he leans down for another kiss before opening the door. Mom stands outside, her eyebrows raised in question. "What took you so long?"

"We were wrapping things up," I say with a wink at Jace.

"So I'm taking it as practice went well?"

"Better than you'd ever imagine, Ms. Fray," Jace says. "Be ready for a killer performance."

**Whooot. So they finally kissed. About time right?**

**PLEASE REVIEW! Every review makes me happy :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**The amount of response to the last chapter…I am speechless. Literally. Thank you guys so much for the support, words cannot express how happy and grateful I am for having you guys. I'm sorry if I couldn't get to your review! I tried my best to get to all of them**

**Again, thank you guys so, so, so much.**

**Chapter Seventeen**

A secret I've been harboring all this time is that I'm actually already in a relationship. A beautiful, committed, long-term relationship…

…with my bed.

Gotcha, didn't I?

I love my bed, and my bed loves me. In the morning, it never wants to let me go, and at night, it welcomes me with open arms. We go through no drama at all, and the one and only obstacle in our relationship is the alarm clock, which tries to break us apart daily.

Or well, that's what I thought, until this morning rolled around.

I'm snuggled in my bed, sound asleep, when a piercing sound jolts me awake.

In a split second I'm out of bed, heart thumping madly, blankets twisted around my feet, as my eyes narrow on the alarm clock on my desk.

But it's not moving. And, if I'm not tripping from sleepiness, the clock reads 6:14.

Shaking my head, I stumble back to bed, ready to fall once more into the arms of my lovely bed. Halfway there, the same shrieking noise makes me freeze in my tracks.

"Aahhhhhh!" Something – or some_one_ – screams.

My eyes fly wide, my breath hitches, and the worst possible scenarios begin flashing through my mind. Some girl, in the alley, getting trapped by a tall, shady man. Two burglars, entering the house.

Then a grunt and a low groan follow.

And suddenly, I'm sick. Sick to the bone.

My stomach rolls with nausea and I sprint for the bathroom, heaving over the toilet. When nothing comes up, I sink against the wall.

The situation is even worse than I expected. Much, much worse. In fact, I would take two burglars over this any day.

Because the sound that I thought was my alarm clock?

It's my mother.

My mother and Valentine, two doors down from my room. And they're having – yeah, you named it.

Morning sex.

I can't do this anymore. I can't live in this house, waking up each morning to traumatic experiences like these. It's beyond disgusting.

With my mind still numb, my eyes drift aimlessly around my bathroom and land on the calendar pinned against the wall. There's a red circle on today's date. And, as realization dawns on me, I literally whack my head against the sink.

It's my mom's birthday.

And it seems like Valentine's giving her the perfect gift.

Birthday sex.

…

English is absolute hell.

I can't look at Valentine without hearing the piercing shrieks from this morning, and images of him and my mother, getting down and heavy, are so revolting I want to throw up. And when he picks up a pen to write on the board, I nearly lose it looking at his fingers.

Dear God.

Why.

I must look so queasy that when Jace walks over, he only needs to take one look at my face to know something's wrong. He gently cups my elbow, his other hand coming up to rub my back, and he murmurs softly, lips against my ear, "What's wrong?"

I shiver as a flush runs through my body. His lips curl against my ear, and ever so naughtily, he pulls my earlobe with his teeth. I'm squirming in my seat, twisting around to face him, and my eyes align immediately with his lips.

Even now, with all these nauseating thoughts, I still want to kiss him.

When I finally manage to tear my eyes away and glance up at him, his eyes are dark and burning. He draws back slowly, his bottom lip snagged between his teeth. "Are you okay?" He asks again, this time sounding rather strained.

No. My disgusting thoughts about my English teacher are now intermixed with images of you kissing me.

I'm so absorbed in those thoughts I forget to reply. Jace quirks an eyebrow and grins.

"Okay, look," he deadpans. "I know I'm attractive and all, but I didn't realize I was so hot to stun you into silence."

His effort to cheer me up is so adorable. I force my mouth to curve into a wide smile. "Believe me," I shoot back, "if I wanted to be stunned into silence, I'd look into a mirror."

"Do you have a portal for a mirror? Because it's weird how my reflection appears in _your_ mirror."

"Yeah, which is why I need to get a new one."

Jace hisses, putting a hand to his heart. "Cause my beauty's so blinding it hurts your eyes?"

I give him a playful shove, and excitement rushes through me as his muscles flex and harden underneath my fingers. "Get over yourself."

His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, pulling me close. "You know you want me," he teases, voice low and silky.

I know he's only joking, but suddenly his scent wraps all around me, all spicy and fresh and minty. I'm close enough to feel the body heat lapping off his body, pulling me in, closer, closer, and closer, like I'm an iron nail and he's the magnet. Maybe I gasped, or my breath hitched, but when I look up, Jace is staring at me with a familiar intensity. His eyes run slowly down my face, past my neck, down my body, and a flush so intense floods through me that I would have stumbled if he wasn't holding me so tightly.

When his eyes finally travel back up, they pause at my lips, and his fingers clench around my wrist.

The bell rings, and suddenly I'm jerking away as his fingers linger along my sides.

"I've got a soccer meeting today at lunch, so I'll catch you later?" He leans down to whisper in my ear again, a hand snaking back to tug my closer to his body. "We've got to find somewhere quiet. And alone."

And then he's gone with a wink, making his way through the rows of desks and out the door. My fingers shake, my skin tingles, and the room feels way to warm. My heart is going off like a bullet shot from the gun barrel.

Jace Wayland will be the death of me.

…

Three hours later, and I'm still reeling.

This time, however, by nauseating sickness. I can already see the headlines of the local newspaper: Victim dies of choking on puke after experiencing revolting affection between parental lovers.

Last time I attended dinner with Valentine and my mother, they had shown restraint and had limited their affection to mere sappy smiles. This time, however, their restraint seems to have been bulldozed down.

Valentine is currently stroking my mother's arm, and she, in turn, is leaning into him. Occasionally, they kiss – tiny pecks to the lips.

I guess I'm lucky to be spared from tongue action.

Last time I attended dinner with Valentine was also the time the Lightwoods appeared. It was when I had first met Alec, Isabelle's brother and Jace's adoptive brother. As the door opens and a gush of wind blows in, I'm suddenly knocked aback by a wave of déjà vu.

Because there they are, standing like royalty by the door, surveying the room. A waiter scrambles towards them and ushers them into a table two across from ours.

Damn.

And even worse, this time Jace is with them.

The family moves into their seats, with Jace facing me. He pulls his chair out, glances up, and freezes. His eyes catch mine, and confusion clouds his eyes as he takes in me, my mother, and Valentine.

I die a little on the inside.

He moves to walk over and I shake my head furiously until he backs off and sinks into his seat again, confused but amused by my vehement reaction.

When I finally get over the mortification, I'm knocked back breathless again – by Jace.

Hot da_yum_.

The boy could dress.

He's wearing a dark blue dress shirt, with crisp collars, and a golden tie that perfectly matches the molten color of his eyes and hair. The outfit looks so good on him that it should be illegal. Women and girls on both sides of the restaurant are stealing covert glances in his direction.

I want to drag him out of his chair by his tie and pull him into the nearest bathroom – hell, the nearest dark corner – and kiss him mindless. Because he's all mine, mine, mine.

It takes me a while, but I finally manage to detach my eyes from his body and focus on the food in front of me. My mouth drools, but not from the food. I work on keeping my eyes trained on the plate, but once in a while, they drift automatically to places they are not allowed to look.

A while later, when I've finally accomplished to avoid looking in his direction for five whole minutes, I glance up, glad to give myself a break and indulge in his hotness.

And I almost fall out of my seat.

Instead of seeing Jace and his glory, my eyes fall onto my mom and Valentine. They're sitting so close she's almost on his lap, and his fingers are stroking her thigh.

That's when all the images running throughout my head rush into my mind again, and I'm out of my seat in a second, mumbling an excuse to use to the bathroom.

Oh my god oh my god oh my _god._

I reach the hallway leading into the bathroom and rest my head against the wall.

A few seconds later, footsteps reverberate down the hall. Jace strides towards me, stopping mere inches away.

"Clary. Are you okay?" He asks.

The world's spinning, and I'm tipping, tipping over, tipping into Jace. His arms go around me, and it feels like the hugs during class, during the play.

Only this one's real. This one's just us.

"My mom," I mumble into his chest. "And Valentine."

Jace keeps his arms secured around me, but stretches his head to look out at the tables.

"Are they…?"

I nod.

"Oh. _Oh._" He strokes my hair. "So that's why you call him nicknames. Everything makes so much more sense now."

I focus on breathing in and out steadily, instead of on the heat radiating from Jace's body. His scent is drifting around me again, spicy and minty and fresh.

His cologne smells like liquid sex.

"You smell good," I say automatically, before I can stop myself. My fingers fist in his shirt reflexively, causing a wolfish grin to stretch across Jace's face. He slowly backs me against the wall, his arms planted on either side of my head, his tall body caging mine.

"You smell good too," he breathes, lowering his face to mine. I lift onto the tips of my toes, but he deftly dodges my advance and skims his lips along my jaw. My head tilts back, my eyes roll into my head. He reaches down and pulls my wrists together, bringing them up and locking them over my head. "You look so good too."

I whimper when our mouths finally meet, our tongues tangling together almost immediately. His body's pushing against mine, using the hard wall behind my back as a steady support of the both of us. His unoccupied hand skims along the side of my body, making my stomach curl into a hot coil, and somehow I manage to unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt to slip my hand inside. He sucks in a deep gulp of air, breathing jagged.

"Jace?"

We freeze, and, like two little kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, peer over our shoulders. Isabelle stands with her hands on her hips, her expression blank.

"Yeah?" Jace says sheepishly.

"Come on back," she says, giving him a look. "The cake's about to be cut."

"Alec's birthday," Jace says to me by way of explanation. "Do you want some?"

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. You better get back anyway."

"Nice seeing you, Clary." Isabelle tosses Jace one last look I can't decipher and disappears.

Jace softly kisses the corner of my mouth before untangling himself. "Well," he says slowly, eyes still slightly glazed and dark. "I guess I'd better go."

"Yeah," I agree, my hand unconsciously tracing where his mouth hand just been. His eyes follow my fingers hungrily. "You're probably hungry for cake."

"And more." He grins wickedly, turning to go. "And don't worry, Clary. You can trust me to keep your mom and Valentine a secret."

**Jace is leaning over your shoulder, his lips against your ear, his breath stirring your hair, his fingers sliding along your legs, whispering for you to review. **


	18. Chapter 18

**The author's note in the end got a looot of response. I love you guys.**

**And I haven't mentioned it in a while, but remember that Valentine is still putting on that schoolwide play!**

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Dude, get your lazy ass out here before I have to drag you out myself," Jace drawls from the end of the line. I grin at my phone while cramming my folders into my backpack. Mom tosses me an apple as I sprint out the door with my hair still slightly damp from the shower.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" I put on an innocent face as I slide into his car.

"Nah, I've only been waiting out here for the past ten minutes." Smirking, he leans over to bury his face in the crook of my neck. His fingers skim my back as he pushes aside my hair, breathes in deeply, and peppers light kisses from my shoulder to my jaw.

I shiver, and it takes all my willpower to plant a hand on his chest and push him away. "My mom's probably watching us."

"You smell good," he replies, grinning slyly. "I couldn't resist."

I roll my eyes and lean up quickly to peck him on the lips. "It's called a shower. And good morning, by the way."

"Soap, shampoo, and water. And naked," he winks, making me go beet red. "And good morning to you too." He slides his hand onto my knee and keeps it there for the entire ride to school.

…

Aline's standing in our usual spot as Jace and I cruise into the parking lot, but with one glance at us, her eyes grow as wide as saucers. She spins on her heel, giving us time.

Heads turn, eyebrows rise, jaws drop, yet Jace seems oblivious as he locks his car and grabs my hand.

"Ready for first period?" He asks, twining our fingers together.

"I'm as tired as hell. Why did you have to wake me up so early?" I tease. "Can't I just sleep in?"

"Is that why you're looking so rough today?" He counters. "Because you didn't get your beauty sleep?"

I shove him in the side as he chuckles to himself.

"You have to admit, that was pretty good," he says.

"Get over yourself." I cross my arms, pretending to pout.

Still grinning, Jace tugs me closer and tucks a strand of wayward hair behind my ear. "C'mon, babe. You know I'm just messing with you."

I wrinkle my nose. "Babe?"

"You don't like it? How about Honey Boo Boo? Or maybe Princess? Sweet pea?"

"Jacey-poo?"

His smile drops instantaneously. "Get out."

"Jace, my boo-boo."

"Stop."

"J-waceeeeee – "

His hand muffles the rest of my sentence, and he brings his face close to nip at my earlobe. "If you say one more of those…"

I pull back, flushed from his proximity. "You're making a scene."

Jace tosses a glance over his shoulder, and as if just noticing the shocked crowd, crooks an eyebrow. He turns back to me, and before I can react, grabs my chin and kisses me, in front of everybody. It's not a hard-core, tongue-smashing kiss, but it's firm and solid, and no one can mistake it for a friendly peck.

"There," he says, pulling me along to my next class. "If they want something to talk about, let's give them something to talk about."

…

School feels like a dream as I drift down the halls. Girls stare at me with disgust, their incredulity displayed blatantly. Guys stare outright, as if trying to figure out what Jace sees in me. And the grapevine is as brutal as always. Some girls don't even bother to lower their voices when I pass. They give us a week, maximum. Some blow it off as a joke, that it's a bet, or that Jace has lost his mind.

It hurts, but the pain subsides when I walk out of class each period to find Jace waiting there, his face brightening when he catches sight of me. Even as I protest, he holds my books and walks me to my classroom, and we dawdle for so long that he's late to almost every period.

And now, a grin splits my face as I approach my locker to get my English book for fourth period. Jace leans casually against the wall, his eyes gleaming as I get closer and closer.

"Hey, Jacey-kins." Grabbing fresh binder paper, I move to close the locker, when his hand clamps down on mine.

"Watch it, Dumplin." He moves behind me, close but not touching. The electricity between us crackles. His words ruffle my hair as I stand frozen with want, not daring to move. "I can think of a hundred better things to do with your mouth than to say those words."

He remains planted firmly behind me, the warmth quickening my breath.

But two can play a game, right?

Turning slowly on my heel, I reach up to lightly trace my fingers along the outline of his lips. Now he freezes, hand clenching involuntarily on my locker door. I stand on my tiptoes and purposefully place my lips along the shell of his ear.

"I love it when you talk dirty like that."

Jace shivers. Actually shivers. He lets out a shaky breath and steps away in agony. "Jesus Christ, Clary."

And just when I'm smirking in triumph, he leans down to sneak in one last remark that makes my knees shake.

"Too bad we're at school right now," he murmurs, voice low. "Or else I'd show you exactly what I'd do to that fucking pretty little mouth."

My jaw drops. I'm staring up at him, part of me flushed, part of me abashed, and all of me wanting to jump on him and have him show me right here, right now. Screw everybody else.

He grins cheekily, shuts my locker, and heads towards class, with me trailing in a daze behind him.

Yeah, he definitely won.

…

Aline can't stop squealing afterschool as we walk down the hall to our locker. I listen good-naturedly, still in a good mood after Valentine praised our performance in class. Needless to say, Jace and I pulled off the bed scene with a score of 10/10.

The only obstacle we encountered was Seelie, who stormed out of the room after shooting me an ominous glare.

I sigh. News of Jace and I has spread around school like wildfire, and the rumors people have been throwing around are ridiculous.

"…and they said he pushed you against the lockers and practically molested your face in front of the whole school," she jabbers. "Now _that's_ what I call a kiss."

I roll my eyes. "He didn't _molest_ me, Aline. He just kissed me. A regular kiss."

"And they said he flipped the bird at the people who were staring," she continues, as if I hadn't said a word. "That's just _so_ romantic."

"I bet those are just fantasies you have about Raphael…" I trail off as we approach our shared locker. There's a huge crowd around it, and something gnaws at the bottom of my stomach.

A student glances at me, catches my eye, and gives me a look filled with pity and sorrow.

Oh, god. What's happened now?

Aline shoots me a panicked look as the students quickly disperse when we start pushing our way through. Many of them steer clear of me, as if I were a disease. Others toss me sympathetic glances. A few snicker.

Because plastered on my locker in poster size paper is a crudely drawn caricature of me. Someone's painted my face in green, like Fiona, with a huge, lumpy nose. My body has been squashed into dwarf size, and an X drawn over my chest. "Freak" is scribbled along the bottom, and there's red, red, red, just everywhere, covering every possible inch of the paper.

Aline grabs my arm because I've started to wobble on my feet. "Tear that shit down," she snaps at an onlooker.

I can't cry.

Not here, not now. Not with so many people waiting for me to break down.

"At least they could have made my nose better," I snark.

I twist my lips into a bitchy smile, pull my arm out of Aline's grasp, and walk away.

The tears finally break free when I reach the third floor bathroom which no one uses.

**Poop, just when you thought things were going well, hm? **

**And yes, I did steal and slightly slightly slightly alter a part of **_**Hush, Hush**_** because I loved that line.**

**And tell me, how was Jace? He plays dirty(;**

**REVIEW **


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you guys so much for the reviews! I couldn't have asked for better readers. You guys are always so supportive in your reviews, and no one trashes my writing. I can't express how grateful I am to have readers like you guys. Thank you!**

**Note: the author's note at the bottom clears some things up that happen in this chapter.**

**Chapter Nineteen**

When Jace calls me the next morning, I blow him off with the lame excuse of period cramps. He doesn't offer much resistance, and I don't expect him to. After all, what guy wants to bury himself in bloody, menstrual shit?

I wouldn't have shown up for school if it wasn't for Aline. A few minutes after Jace calls, she storms into my house, completely ignoring my mother's bewildered protests. I cower futilely under my blankets, which she yanks off in a second.

"Get up."

I glare back up at her through slightly puffy eyes. "No."

She crosses her arms, eyes blazing. "Last chance. Get up right now or I'm going to personally drag you to school, even if you're still wearing pajamas."

"I told my mom I was sick," I snarl through gritted teeth. My hair looks like a rat's nest, my clothes bear wrinkles, and my eyes are bloodshot from crying. "I am _not_ going to school."

"_Mrs. Fray_!" Aline hollers.

Mom bursts into my room a fraction of a second later, eyes frantic. "What's wrong?"

"Take her temperature," Aline commands. "And see if she's really sick."

Mom's eyes dart between us, finally settling on me with suspicion. "Okay, what's happening?"

"Just do it. And please, give us a second afterwards."

Ignoring my protests, my mom shoves a thermometer underneath my tongue and slowly retreats from the room after shooting me one last questioning glance.

"What the hell?" I shout, words garbled by the thermometer.

"Don't do this to yourself, Clary." Aline sits on the edge of my bed and grabs my hand. "You're stronger than this."

"No, I'm not," I say like a petulant child. I'm really not. I'm not strong enough to stand all of this shit and drama. I can't handle the pressure, the stares, the judgment shining in everybody's eyes, or the taunts and bullying, anymore. On days like yesterday, when things get too tough, I feel like cracking down and breaking apart.

"_Yes_. Yes,you are." Her grip tightens on my hand to the point of pain. "You are so strong, and you don't even realize it. You've stood up to Simon countless times – "

"And that got me far, didn't it?"

"It shows that you believed in yourself. That you respect yourself enough not to be pushed around by others. People admire that type of courage, Clary. You are so strong, and you don't even realize how much others look up to you. There are other kids who get bullied by Simon and Seelie every day, and, believe me, when you got suspended for punching Simon, that act immediately brightened up their day."

"Well," I say sarcastically, "I'm glad my suspension gave them great amusement."

Aline rolls her eyes. "You know that's not what I meant. But Clary, don't let them do this to you. Go back and show them what you're made of, that you're not easily stomped down. If you let them control you like this, it's only going to give them the satisfaction they're searching for."

I look down at our intertwined fingers, mine squeezing hard around hers. Strength and encouragement flow from where we touch, but I know later on school will be a bitch. The whispers and stares are inevitable.

"I don't know…"

"Why don't you tell your mom?" Aline asks quietly. "You need to talk to her."

I shake my head. "I can't. She has her own problems, and I don't want to weigh her down with my own. And ever since Valentine came into the picture, things haven't been entirely the same."

"What things?"

Mom stands in the doorway, eyebrows arched. Aline shoots me a look.

"Just school things," I reply ambiguously.

She plucks the thermometer from my mouth and frowns. "98.6 degrees. Perfectly fine. You sure you want to go to school though? You do look kind of sick."

"She's fine." Aline juts in with a note of finality, picking up her backpack as I sigh and climb out of bed. "Or at least, she will be."

…

As soon as I step into English, I know that coming to school today was a mistake. Seelie's eyes zone in on me as soon as I cross the threshold of the classroom. Her plucked eyebrows disappear into her hairline.

_Wassup, bitch._

Jace leaves his friends immediately and beelines over. "Hey, I thought you weren't feeling well."

"I'm alright," I lie, fully aware of Isabelle's eyes on us. She stares back unabashedly when I glance over, her eyes darting from me to Jace and back again, her expression thoughtful, curious, sharp.

Jace tips his head to the side, examining my face. He puts a hand to my forehead. "No fever."

"Nope."

My mind's whirling, spinning. Does he know about the locker incident? Is he embarrassed of me?

"And you mysteriously disappeared afterschool yesterday. Are you sure you're okay?" He twines his pinkie around mine, pulling me close. "You know that if there's anything you ever want to talk to me about, I'm here for you, right?"

For a second, I almost get lost in the gold of his eyes until I drop my eyes and stare at my shoes. I can't lie to him without cracking. "Yeah," I say quietly. "I know."

He gives me a brief hug before going back to his desk just as Valentine starts class. When I shoulder my way to my seat, a folded note lies calmly in the center of the desk.

_You made a huge mistake to show up today. And you're gonna regret it._

I raise an eyebrow across the room at Seelie and mouth, "Bring it on, bitch."

…

Queerly, Seelie makes no move the entire day. No tripping in the hallway, no name calling, no nothing. It's weird. Eerie.

So when she brushes past my locker after lunch with her friends, I immediately tense and spin around, eyes trailing her every motion.

She doesn't even spare me a glance.

The hell?

"I can't wait until the game today," she squeals to Blondie #1 on her left. "The team is going to kick ass. And the guys are going to look so good on that field."

"Especially you-know-who," Blondie #2 on her right juts in. "Last game, he could hardly keep his eyes off of the stands to look at you during the game."

Seelie blushes. My fists clench and I take several deep breaths.

This has to be rehearsed, scripted, fake.

"Are you going to wait outside the locker room again?" Blondie #1 asks.

I manage to catch the last bit of her reply as they walk out of my hearing. "Totally," she squeaks. "If the other guys hadn't interrupted, Jace would have had the perfect warm up, if you know what I mean."

Well, looks like the boys' soccer team isn't the only one who will be kicking ass. So will I.

Kicking Seelie's ass.

…

I catch Jace afterschool on his way to the locker room. He's decked out in soccer shorts, long socks, and a green tshirt, sports bag slung over one shoulder, looking ready for the game. It's not the first time I wonder how he can make something so normal look so attractive.

"Hey, Jace." I slip my fingers through his, falling in step beside him.

"Hey." He smiles, looking surprised but happy. "What're you doing here?"

We pause outside the locker room, where guys are streaming in. Several shove Jace's shoulder as they go in. I don't miss the suggestive eyebrow raises and winks they give him.

His ears grow pink, and they're the goddamned cutest ears I've ever seen.

"Can't I come to wish my boyfriend good luck?" I pretend to pout while noticing the faint blush of his ears at the word _boyfriend_. It's all I can do from squealing with cuteness overload. "Although you don't even need it."

Jace's eyes glow with affection as he drops his bag to the ground. He loosely hooks his arms around my waist, kissing me lightly. "Of course I do. I have all the luck I'll ever need right in front of me."

I link my arms around his neck, feeling a chain beneath the collar of his shirt, and lean back to pull out the silver necklace. "You're wearing it."

Instead of answering immediately, he reaches down and grabs the soccer ball. He places it on my hair, trying to balance it on my head while I bounce on my feet, making it impossible. Both of us grin at each other. "I meant you," he says. "_You're _my lucky charm."

At this, I forget why the real reason why I'm here: to spite Seelie. No one has voiced how important I am in their life in such a long time like he does. I rise on my toes, kissing him fiercely. It startles him, and, as he stands momentarily stunned, I back him into the wall. Soccer forgotten, his shock quickly disappears, and he's kissing me back just as hard. In one fluid motion, he flips us so I'm pinned against the wall, head tilted to the side, mouth wide open. It's all lips and tongue and teeth, all need and hunger and want. He swallows my gasps, and we share breaths.

"You're such a sweet talker," I breathe, failing to summon any accusation into my voice.

"I thought you liked it," he teases, lips moving along my jaw. He plants a few butterfly kisses against my lips before pulling back reluctantly. "I have to go, or else I'll be late for the game."

I clutch his shirt, pulling him down. I kiss the corner of his mouth and run my lips slowly across his cheek, to his ear, sucking down on his earlobe. He groans into my neck. "Just a few more minutes?"

"I…"

"Please. It won't - "

He's kissing me before I can finish the sentence.

"Jace?"

We break apart. A few feet away, a tall man stands glaring at us, furious. And, surprise, surprise, Seelie rounds the corner of the locker room hot on his heels a few seconds later. Our eyes lock, hers burning with jealousy…and satisfaction.

What the hell?

Jace stands stiffly beside me, face as hard as stone. "Coach."

Oh, shit.

The man continues his staredown, his anger barely contained, brimming at the surface like a volcano before it erupts. "Why aren't you in the locker room?"

Jace's jaw clenches.

"It was my fault," I blurt, and everyone's eyes swerve to me. "He was going to go, but I…"

"Did I address you?" Coach Herondale cuts me off icily.

I suck in a breath.

"Ten minutes until the game starts, and I find you fraternizing out here?" He roars. "You know the rules. Get in my office." He storms into the locker room without another word, with Jace following silently behind him.

"_You,"_ I spit as soon as they're gone. "You tipped him off, didn't you. You set me up."

Seelie even has the nerve to smirk. "Look what you did," she sighs, pretending to be devastated. "Poor Jace. Coach Herondale is pissed just because of what you did. And the whole school knows how harsh Herondale is."

"You bitch," I growl. "And that caricature? You glued that hideous piece of trash to my locker to humiliate me."

"So what if I did?"

"You're a two-faced, no good, motherfucking, cum dumping, lying, scheming bitch."

She's momentarily stunned into silence before her face scrunches in anger and she lets out a slew of her own profanity. "Yell at me all you want," she continues after controlling herself, "but you just screwed Jace over."

Oh, this bitch.

"So what if I did?" Throwing her own words back at her, I plaster a smug smirk on my face, even as my stomach churns with the possibility.

Just as I expected, she explodes. "You _bitch_! I _knew_ you just wanted to have sex with him. You were just after him for his popularity. You used him so you'd rise from nothing to something. Well, congratulations, _slut._"

Never have I wanted to kill another person so badly. I want her off my back. I want her dead. I want her mouth to be ripped from her face, leaving a wide, empty, bloody hole.

"Funny that's coming from you," I sneer, managing to pack as much hatred into my tone as possible. "Like you didn't want him just for sex?"

She starts to lunge at me, then stops as if slammed by a truck. Her eyes widen as they focus on something beyond my shoulder.

I spin around and lock eyes with Jace.

His expression hits me like a slap in the face, and there's no going back. No hopeless wishing that he missed our exchange. No pleading for forgiveness.

"Jace…"

"Did you mean it?" He gulps, his Adam's apple moving thickly. My heart breaks when his control slips and his voice wavers at the end.

I shake my head, but I know it's not enough for him to believe me.

"Were you just using me? Did you _really_ come here to wish me luck, Clary?" He says my name like it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

I choke on my own shame as it engulfs me.

_No, I came here to get revenge on Seelie, and I'm sorry. I was stupid, bitchy, and foolish, and I'd take it all back if I could. I'm afraid to lose you, I'm sorry for not realizing how important and great you are until now. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm just so goddamn sorry._

"No answer?" He stalks in front of me, grips my chin, and forces me to look at him. He searches my face and drops his hand in disgust when he's found his answer.

"Get out of my life," Jace says quietly. Without another glance, he turns his back, grabs his backpack, and walks away. Seelie flies behind him, but he pushes her aside. I hear the words, "poster," "unbelievable," and "fucked up."

Saltiness prickles my lips, and I realize I'm crying. I'm broken as my knees give out and I crumple to the ground.

Where my heart should be, there's an empty void, replaced by a tornado of emotions. Anger, sadness, exhaustion, and most of all, pain that rips my soul into thousands of shards.

Stomped on, bullied around, bitched at, humiliated. I've suffered it all.

But in the end, they didn't break me.

I broke myself.

**OH SNAPPPPP.**

**Okay, I realize Jace's anger and actions may seem a bit out there. Like, why didn't he listen to Clary's side of things? If he likes her so much, he should have at least taken a second to talk things over instead of just storming out, right?**

**But remember, he's still a teenager! And sometimes when we're angry, we say really harsh things and make really bad decisions. More importantly, there's also more than you know. There's a reason behind his actions, so he's not just all of a sudden flipping out only because of Clary's words. **

**Review please!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes: The school wide Romeo and Juliet play they're putting on is still in action. I know I haven't mentioned that in a while. Also, Sebastian's Clary's older brother.**

**Chapter Twenty**

Sit down. Take out pencil. Stare into space. Get up. Walk. Bell rings. Sit down. Repeat.

I walk through the school hallways like a zombie, dead, not seeing anything. Not seeing the disgusted stares, not hearing the harsh taunts, not thinking about the incident last Friday. It takes all my energy just to focus on performing basic life functions.

Eat. Sleep. Breathe.

Eat as if I have an appetite. Sleep as if I can close my eyes without seeing his face. Breathe as if every breath doesn't drive a piercing pain through me.

And it only gets worse as the clock ticks closer to fourth period. Stomach turning with nausea, I excuse myself with an excuse of feeling sick, slip out of third period early, and walk to Valentine's classroom. He has prep during this time, and I stand outside, gripping my backpack straps until my knuckles turn white.

I need to apologize to Jace; it's the least I can do.

Valentine raises a curious eyebrow when I'm the first student to walk in the door. Head down, I shuffle to my seat, ignoring his piercing gaze.

"Good morning, Clary," he says.

"Morning, Valentine," I say quietly, staring at my fingers.

"Is something wrong?"

Maybe I'm just too tired to fight back, maybe it's because he sounds genuinely concerned, but I can't find enough energy to lie.

"It's a long story," I say ruefully. "I did something stupid. Mostly my fault."

I can tell he wants to ask more, but at that moment, the door opens and more students file in.

"Sometimes we're at war with ourselves. I hope everything works out, Clary." He shoots me a small, sympathetic smile before turning to address the class.

"Alright, crew," he claps his hands. "Our performance is on Saturday. Let's pick up from where we left off on Friday, the balcony scene."

Without meaning to, I shoot a panicked glance in Jace's direction. His face pinches as he drags a hand down his face. He rises without returning my glance, and I follow as Valentine beckons us up.

"Juliet has just discovered Romeo by her window," Valentine says as a reference. "And lights, camera…action!"

I reach forward to hug Jace around the waist. He stiffens all over, muscles rigid and clenched underneath my fingers. Ignoring the stinging pain of rejection, I pull back, keeping my arms linked around his neck, and say, "_By whose direction found'st thou out this place?."_

Jace's jaw tightens as he slowly lowers his gaze to meet mine, eyes unreadable. His hands rise lightly and settle on the edges of my shirt, barely touching, the minimum contact possible. Deep bags lie under his eyes, his shirt is rumpled, and his hair sticks out in every direction.

Even if he's hiding his emotion, the pain is obvious. The corner of my mouth trembles, and I have to look down to keep my composure.

"_By love,_" he spits bitterly.

I think I might have gasped sharply, but suddenly there's a gap between us. Unconsciously, I've taken a step back. Jace's expression never wavers, but his eye twitches.

"Cut."

Instantly, Jace rips himself out of my hold and increases the chasm that divides us.

Valentine's eyes burn holes through me as he examines us closely. "What happened to the chemistry the other day?"

Silence.

Until a snarky, smug voice cuts through the air. "Never was any," Seelie simpers. "After all, what are actors for?"

Deep breathes. Unclench fists. Count to ten.

Jace tips his head back, sighs, shoulders rising and falling, and gives Valentine a short nod. "Sorry," he apologizes. "I've just been a bit out of it lately. But I've gotten over it already."

_Ouch._

I can't breathe. I can't see. I'm barely hanging on as he walks closer and closer, loosely grabbing my wrists, which can't seem to move by themselves, linking them around his neck. When he looks down at me, his eyes are deceptively soft and loving. If I didn't know him so well, I would be convinced, if not for the pounding vein in his temple.

"Jace," I say quietly, privy only to our ears. "I'm sorry."

His façade cracks slightly. "Not here," he hisses. "Not now."

His eyes harden and we both hear the unspoken ending. _Not ever._

"Please," I whisper.

"_I am no pilot. Yet, wert thou as far. As that vast shore washed with the farthest sea,I would adventure for such merchandise,_" he declares loudly, ignoring my plead, voice ringing throughout the classroom.

I drop my head, eyes squeezing shut, willing the tears to disappear. When I speak, only the edges of my eyes are a bit watery.

"_Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek…"_

Countless experiences of bullying have taught me how to hide and suppress my emotions well.

…

"I knew it wouldn't last more than a week."

I'm at my locker, shoving binders in, when Simon slides up.

I continue shoving papers, trying my best to ignore him.

"And the show's on Saturday," he continues relentlessly. "Wonder how _that's_ going to turn out. Public rejection on stage, maybe? Booing from the audience at such poor acting?" His smile widens. "Maybe there'll be tomatoes thrown at you, although that wouldn't make a difference, with your red hair and all."

I slam my locker shut. "Not today, Simon."

He opens his mouth, catches one glance at my face, and closes it.

"Thank you," I say quietly without malice, without sarcasm, voice devoid of any emotion, as I turn my back and walk away.

…

I'm exhausted when I get home. With the performance in a few days, Valentine works late into the night and is too late to send me home. He's working so hard to make this play perfect, and I can't be the one who holds him back. I'll put aside what happened with Jace and try my best for Valentine.

I reach this conclusion while walking up the steps to the house, when the door flies open by its own accord. Then I'm leaping into Sebastian's arm, my face buried in his chest.

"Whoa there," he laughs, pretending to stagger with my weight. "Did you gain a few pounds? You're heavier than I remember."

I shove his chest playfully and push away, wrinkling my nose. "Ew. You smell like ass."

Sebastian loops his arm around my shoulder, purposely smashing me into his side. "Girls like it in the ass, if you get what I mean."

"_Ewwww,_" I wrench myself away. "No, we don't."

"Oh? And how would you know, Miss Virgin Lips?"

I flush deep red, ducking my head so my face won't give me away. Luckily, Sebastian doesn't seem to notice and instead disappears into the kitchen to find a can of icecream. "So, how's school?"

"A bitch. How's college?" I say, diverting the topic quickly.

His eyes narrow – he's noticed. Damn.

"Okay, what's up? And don't play cute," he warns, just as I open my mouth. "I know the ceiling's up there."

Glaring, I snap my mouth shut and cross my arms. "What are you doing back home?"

Melodramatically, he presses a hand to his heart. "To visit my little sister, of course. I missed you so much. Don't tell me you didn't miss me either."

Oh, I did. I more than hell missed him.

"And it's spring break. I was going to go surfing with friends but Mom said you were the leading role in the school play, so I figured I had to come back and watch your stellar performance."

I groan, hiding my face in my hands. I should have known there'd be a catch.

"Terrific," I mumble. "You can finally meet Mom's boyfriend."

"_Mom's dating?_" Sebastian shouts, icecream forgotten. He grabs me by the arms, gripping me roughly. "Who is he? Have you met him? Do you like him? Is he nice? Does he treat Mom nicely?"

"Yeah, I see him everyday," I say elusively, purposely, to get on his nerves.

"What? How?" He prods, grip tightening.

"I see him at school."

"Mom is dating a _student_? What the literal fuck?" Sebastian's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

I gag. "Ew, gross! No!"

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "He's a teacher," he says slowly. "But don't tell me…"

I raise my eyebrows, daring him to continue.

He pales. "Holy shit. He's _your_ teacher?"

I nod gravely. "My English teacher."

Sebastian's face twists. "What the hell? Mom is dating _your_ _English teacher_? Does she not know how messed up that is for you? Oh, my god. I can't even imagine what other students must say about you."

Suddenly, I feel bad for putting so much blame on my mom, even if part of me is glad that Sebastian's siding with me. "They don't know," I say, trying to lighten the situation. "They won't find out either, so it'll all be okay."

"Maybe," he says darkly. "Or maybe not. I'm going to have to speak to her about this."

I grab his arm, latching on. "No, don't."

"Did she ask for your approval?"

"No…" I say slowly. "Actually, I walked in on them kissing one day at school."

_Shut up!_ My mind screams when Sebastian's face morphs with incredulous outrage. _Not helping._

"You _what?_ What the fuck?" He grabs his phone out of his pocket.

"Don't do this, Seb. He makes her happy."

"But still, she has to take you into consideration." But I can see him softening. "I'm not going to break them up, Clary. I'm just going to talk to her."

Ruffling my hair, he grabs his keys and jogs out of the house.

I stare at the jar of icecream left on the counter and shake my head in disbelief.

Since when did I start defending Valentine?

**Yup, that was a Kelly Clarkson song reference in there.**

**So…they didn't get back together in this chapter. **

**Review!**


	21. Chapter 21

**For new readers: I update about every one or two weeks. **

**The final play performance is this chapter! Also, the story will be about 30 (or 28) chapters for those of you who are wondering.**

**Chapter Twenty One**

"_Clarissa Fray_," a deep voice bellows from outside my door. "If you don't come out in the next five seconds, I'm going to break this door open and drag your skinny ass out here."

Ugh.

I grab one hasty look in the mirror, meeting a girl with dead eyes and a rat's nest of messy red hair, before grabbing my bag and throwing open the door.

"Goddammit, Sebastian," I glower. "Can't you just give me one minute to get ready?"

Making a face, my brother leans down and picks out a white piece of paper stuck somewhere in my hair. "Call time is at 5 right? That's in 10 minutes, and Mom's flipping shit. And what have _you_ been doing? Sleeping in the trashcan?"

"Something like that," I mumble as I get in his car. Schoolwork aside, I've been spending the rest of my time moping about Jace, mulling over how badly I screwed up, and how I was going to win him back. A girl, even a heartbroken, messed up girl, couldn't just stand back and play the victim.

Mom waves a tearful goodbye, telling me she'll arrive at performance time with flowers and shit. Great.

The next thing we know, Sebastian's careening into the student parking lot. Thank God the lot is mostly empty, because he drives like the Headless Horseman.

"Thanks," I say as I get out of the car, and he grins at me.

"Go get 'em, Clary. I'll see you later."

Then I'm stumbling into the backstage of the theater, where all hell is breaking loose. Valentine spots me in an instant, and a relieved grin breaks out. "Clary! Glad you're on time."

"I know right?" I answer his statement with mock surprise, not missing a beat. "I was planning to be fashionably late and arrive in an hour or so."

Both of us laugh. I'm not sure what's changed – and maybe just nerves – but we seem to get along better these days.

"You need your makeup done," Valentine says, looking around. "Where's Magnus?"

"I'll go find him," I volunteer, glad for a reason to escape. Being around Valentine is bearable now, but I want some more time to process what just happened.

Ten minutes later, and I'm still searching for Magnus. There's an abnormal lump in some curtains pooled together in the shadows in one corner, and I yank it open, leaping back with a gasp.

Two heads peer back at me, one cat-eyed, the other a bright, piercing blue.

I stand there in shock, not even bothering to wipe off my deer in the headlights expression.

Magnus Bane and Alec Lightwood. Were just kissing. In a corner.

They were…?

Huh.

That's actually…kinda cute.

"What do you want?" Magnus asks warily, shooting a look at Alec.

"I thought you dropped off the face of this planet, Bane," I say quickly, trying to cover up for the faux pas and shock. "I need my makeup done."

Magnus gives Alec another apologetic look, and leaning down, brushes his lips softly against his. "I'll see you later, love."

Alec stands rigid, eyes hard as they glare at me. He shakes his head vehemently in disgust, and I drop my gaze, shuffling behind Magnus. He's not mad at this, he's mad at what I did to Jace.

Magnus sits me down in front of a mirror with more glitter than I'd ever seen in my life. Just as he's about to pick up the brush, he leans down and growls in my ear, "You're not to tell anyone what you just saw. Alec isn't ready for other people to know this yet, clear?"

I nod, closing my eyes as he begins his magic.

…

By the time everyone's ready, everything is all set up, there's thirty minutes until the play begins. Standing in front of the mirror, I take in my reflection, not recognizing the girl who stares back.

Face, caked with makeup. Eyes bright, excited, nervous. Dress billowing out, like royalty.

When Aline texts me, I don't hesitate to open the door for her to sneak in.

"Wow," she whistles when she sees me "Don't you look voluptuous tonight."

"_What?_"

She grins. "Just trying out some new vocabulary. Been prepping for the SATs. I figured since Raphael's so smart, I should try and get on the same level as he. Did it not work?"

I can't smother a smile. "Just stop talking."

We settle into a comfortable silence as she looks me over appraisingly, eyes welling slightly with tears.

"My little girl's growing up," she says while I make a face. "Everyone's going to be so amazed by you. I can't even express how proud I am."

I shake my head, watching as red ringlets fall loose from its pins. "Not everyone."

"He hasn't said anything yet?" She asks softly. I've already filled her in on the details.

Biting my trembling lip, I shake my head, blinking hard to stop the onslaught of tears. "He's been avoiding me." I sink down to the ground and pull her with me. The dress spills around us like a pool. "What am I doing, Aline?" I whisper.

"Shh, shhh." Aline's pulling me to her chest, petting my hair softly. "Focus on the play first. One thing at a time."

"I can't," I cry, my voice muffled by her shirt.

She continues stroking. "You'll get through this, Clary. I know you will."

But those words are more for her benefit than mine.

…

The thing about pain is that it nulls fear. The moment the play begins, I'm blinded by bright lights and flashing cameras. The stage fright fades seconds later, however, when I see Jace ambling on stage, decked and shining in all his glory. He commands the audience, who falls in love with him immediately.

All I can think about is how beautiful he is, how great he is…and how he's not mine anymore.

I robotically go through my lines, performing with fake passion and enthusiasm. The whole time, my mind screams for Jace.

It's not until the awkward kissing moment do I feel a slight flutter of nervousness beginning in my stomach. As the actors party away at Capulet's house, as the seconds tick closer and closer to the scene, the butterflies erupt into a full scale tornado. Jace's eyes finally dart over to meet mine for an instant, and in that second, I've made up my mind to do something gutsy I would never have done weeks ago.

I'm a trembling mess as I step into the light.

My heart won't settle. I see Jace coming towards me, his whole form drifting as if in a dream. It must be the lights, but nothing seems real. He pretends to sneak over quietly, reciting his words and my mouth moves but my ears don't respond. There is only the thundering drumbeat of my heart.

Then he's in front of me, and he's leaning in. His face is already deliberately turned but I can't let this moment pass. I can't, I can't, I can't.

My hands dart out and frame his face, turning it toward mine, and before I can think twice, before I can see his eyes, his expression, I kiss him.

I'm not scared anymore. I'm not scared of Seelie, of the Juniors' taunts, of everyone in the audience seeing.

I feel free, like a bird escaping from its cage.

Jace jerks against my lips, shocked. Kissing on stage is something he would do, not me. The kiss is so light I wonder if I'm dreaming. When I pull back, I see his eyes, still open. He's staring at me, eyes wide, blazing, and brilliant.

"_Dost thou love me?_" I whisper above the deafening roar of the crowd. The words are magnified on the microphone so the audience can hear, but it feels like there is only me and Jace. "_I know thou wilt say "ay," And I will take thy word."_

The catcalls and hollers have all died down, but Jace is still silent. By now, the backup would have directed the lines into his earpiece, but Jace stands mute. He's staring at me, looking at me like he did on the Ferris Wheel, like he's actually seeing me.

I can't meet his gaze. My fingers clench in the folds of the dress. I don't know what I want him to do – a nod, a smile, a sign that he's forgiven me.

He's still searching my face when I raise my eyes to meet his, and then he gives a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

**Dun dun dun…what will happen next? SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGERR :)**

**Also I transferred some lines from the later part of Romeo and Juliet to this part, so that the story would fit better together. (The **_**Dost thou love me**_** part comes later, not after their first kiss)**

**The second half of the play is the next chapter! REVIEW**


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you guys for all the reviews! I still can't believe it's almost at 1000!**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

The audience goes crazy after the curtains fall, but I feel none of their excitement. I feel nothing at all.

My classmates line up on stage all around me, their faces bright, making the air of accomplishment nearly tangible. Maia slaps me on the back as she passes. "Nice job."

_Nice job, indeed, Clary._ I want to laugh. _Nice job screwing Jace over._

I am aware of Jace standing a mere six inches on my left, and it hurts to be next to him, both of us silent and awkward.

In a second the curtains will rise, and Valentine will call out our names and the roles we played. When it's my turn, Jace and I will step forward together, bow, and then head off the stage in separate directions. There'll be a party afterwards, something I know I won't stay around for.

The clicks of Valentine's heels pound across the stage on the other side of the curtain.

Fingers slip between mine. My head snaps up, my eyes widen with astonishment, my pulse speeds up at the base of my wrist where we touch, and I know he feels it: my racing heartbeat. I feel his.

But his eyes are hard and unforgiving.

"For the audience," he says, his voice distant.

And this time, the lump in my throat doesn't go away, no matter how hard I swallow. I can't even drag my lips up into a smile when the curtain rises.

…

The sea of people in the auditorium is almost suffocating. Everyone's all smiles and hugs as they congratulate each other. Surprisingly, my arms are piled high with flowers and gifts; I had no idea people were so supportive. Random parents pat me on the back, smiling benevolently with pride at the success of the play.

I hand my flowers over to Sebastian, who's currently engaged in a conversation with Valentine and Mom, and head outside for a fresh breath of air.

Who knew the outside would be jammed packed with people too?

I sigh, maneuvering around people who are milling around aimlessly, chatting with friends. I just want a quiet place where I can drown in my own misery and cry.

The corner of the auditorium building looks relatively dark and quiet, so I shuffle over, ready to unleash the dam of tears. My bottom lip's already trembling, and I duck my chin to my shoulder.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

I freeze.

Up ahead, illuminated by the street lamp, a familiar rat-like boy is quivering as someone looms threatening above him.

"Answer me, you fucking coward," the huge man bellows. When met with silence, he raises his hand, and that's when I understand everything.

Simon flinches.

It's a small movement, but I see it nonetheless: the telltale sign of child abuse.

Every word Simon's said to me, every action, every look, is described perfectly in this moment. It's not hard to understand how abusive parents lead to abusive children.

So I do the only thing I can.

"Mr. Lewis?" I say, wincing as my voice cracks. Both son and father whirl around to stare, Simon's eyes wide with fear, and his father's bright with alarm and fury.

"Yes?" He answers gruffly.

I tuck my trembling hands in the huge dress and realize – shit.

If I was endangering my life and had to run, I'd get nowhere in this ten pound costume.

Taking a small step forward, I venture on. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something but I'd just like to thank Simon for helping me through this play. If he hadn't been here to support me, I think I might have fallen off the stage with fright." I laugh, trying to ease the tension.

Mr. Lewis's eyes soften just a smudge. He turns to his son and growls, "You helped?"

"Uh…yeah," Simon answers, completely bewildered. I scowl at him, trying to get him to wipe off that confused look. His face quickly changes. "Yes, I did. I helped her memorize lines and deal with _fear_. I've learned from _experience_. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go congratulate Clary."

He stalks over and grabs my wrist almost painfully, pulling me so fast that I stumble repeatedly in the dress.

"Can you slow down?" I ask exasperatedly, yanking my wrist from his grasp.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Simon whispers frantically, a note of desperation in his voice.

"Saving your ass," I snarl back. "But obviously you don't appreciate it."

He rakes his fingers through his hair and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Don't. Don't do that again."

Not the response I was expecting, but what was I thinking?

This is _Simon_, the bane of my existence.

I take a step back, ducking my head. I knew I wasn't going to get a thank you, but I wasn't expecting this. Not on top of Jace's rejection.

"No – Clary. Shit." Simon sighs. After taking a quick scan for his dad, he begins speaking again in low tones. "Look, I just don't want him to hurt you, okay? I know this sounds absurd, coming from me, but trust me. You saw him. He was going to hit me."

I nod. "Why would you care though? You 've got no trouble hurting me all the time."

His eyes narrow dangerously. For a second, he looks like he's about to lunge at me, but abruptly his head drops. "I know. You know what I hate most? I was going to come and throw tomatoes at you after the show, but then – then you had to come pull off _this_ bullshit. Coming and saving me when all I've done is shitty things to you. I hate you so much for doing it, and I hate myself even more."

"You were going to do what?" I whisper.

"Throw tomatoes at – "

The smack of my hand connecting with his face cuts him off.

There's a moment of silence as he tries to regain ground. Simon smiles ruefully at the ground. "I guess I deserved that."

"I know this doesn't make up for anything, but I promise I'll lay off your back from now on," he continues choppily, as if it pains him to say the words. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, because I don't deserve it. But I won't bully you again."

I stare at him hard, trying to see through his lie, but his gaze is unrelenting. Finally, I stick my hand in his and we shake on it. Maybe I shouldn't be trusting Simon, but it's a start.

…

After clearing things up with Simon, I feel marginally better. It's almost as if twenty pounds of the two hundred pounds of weight I have on my shoulders has been lifted.

With Mom and Valentine off to celebrate the play's success, Sebastian offers me a ride home.

"What's wrong, Clare-bear?" He asks, casting a worried look in my direction where I sit moping in silence. "Seriously, you've just been the star of an outstanding play. Don't be a Mopey."

"I'll be Mopey all I want," I grumble peevishly like a three year old.

Goddamn my life. I'm able to patch things up with Simon, but not Jace?

The irony of it all.

I pull at the frayed edges of my jeans, silently thanking God I'd never have to wear that cumbersome dress again.

Seriously though, I think angrily. Simon, who I've been at war with for the past few years, and Jace, who I've only known for the past few months.

"Who's Jace?" Sebastian says.

"How do you know about Jace?"

He slides a sidelong look at me. "You just mumbled his name. He was Romeo, right? Gotta say, that guy was pretty good looking."

I roll my eyes. Jesus, my brother too?

"Is he the reason why you're so depressed?" Sebastian prods. "I can kick his ass, if you want."

"_No,"_ I practically scream. "In fact, if you do that, I swear I'm not going to talk to you ever again."

"Anything you want me to do though? I'm the master wingman," he nudges me with his shoulder.

Suddenly, I sit up in my seat and turn to face my brother. "Actually there is. Could you drive me to the after party?"

…

I might be making a huge mistake.

I'm standing on the front porch of Magnus Bane's house, which is showered in glitter. Blasting music pumps from inside the living room, where two girls are dancing on the coffee table.

Sebastian honks once, urging me to hurry up. He's parked further down the street, waiting for me like I asked him to.

Taking a deep breath – and immediately gagging from cigarette smoke – I cross the threshold into the house.

Cups of alcohol, beer, and juice lie haphazardly around the room. Most of my classmates are milling around, laughing and goofing around like total fools, high off success, adrenaline…and weed.

My eyes roam around the room, searching for Jace.

"You. You're not supposed to be here."

Someone brushes up behind me, voice low in my ear.

I turn around slowly, heart pounding.

Of course it's him. Who else would it be?

"Why are you here? Haven't you done enough already?" Jace's voice borders on hysteria as he stands before me, too close for comfort. His eyes are glazed over, his fists clenched, his feet unsteady.

He's drunk and maybe even stoned.

"Jace…"

"Don't. Don't you dare use that voice with me," he snarls. "Or those eyes. Stop looking at me like that, with those huge fucking big eyes. It's not fair."

He's not thinking clearly, but I can't back down now. It's now or never.

"Can we talk?" I ask quietly, noticing the small crowd that's started to form.

"Talk? You want to talk?" He laughs harshly. "What's there left to talk about? You said everything you needed to already."

"_Stop it_," I beg. "Jace, just stop it."

He squeezes his eyes shut, and, giving me a look of disgust, flicks his head towards the doors to another room where we'd have some privacy.

I shoot him a grateful glance, which he ignores.

When we enter, he slams the door shut, crossing his arms and refusing to look me in the eye.

"So talk."

Just being in the same room, breathing the same air, drives me crazy. The speech I've prepared flies out the window, and I blurt the first thing on my mind. "I'm sorry."

As if that's the spark that lit the bomb, Jace spins around so forcefully he teeters on his heels.

"Sorry?" He repeats. "No, you don't get to say that. Not anymore. Sorry's not going to change any fucking thing."

"Please," I stumble across the distance between us, wanting to reach out and grab his arm. I can't, though, and instead my hands clutch at the empty air. "Please let me explain myself."

Pacing the room, he starts muttering angrily to himself, like an internal civil war is raging within him. Finally, he stops just short of me and says, "No, let _me_ explain _myself_."

He grabs onto my hand roughly. "Do you see this?" he says, holding up our locked fingers, his larger hand swallowing mine. They look perfect together, like they were made for each other. "This is what I have wanted to do ever since that night on the Ferris Wheel. To hold your hand in mine. To bury my face in your hair. To put my cheek next to yours. To kiss you."

His words burn into me, searing hot, and my mouth dries. Jace, saying these words to me, makes me breathless and dizzy.

But it's the alcohol speaking. It must be.

His eyes are clear, holding nothing back as he says, "I can't think when you're around, but I can't _think_ without you either, can't breathe when you touch me, can't see anything else when you're in sight. You drive me crazy, Clary. Crazy. And it freaks me out sometimes, how at night I can go on and on and on, just dreaming about you, about us…" he trails off, and drops my hand in unconcealed disgust. He attempts a bitter laugh that doesn't quite make it and looks down at his shoes. "I'm such an idiot to think that you'd actually give a shit about me."

I do not understand what is happening. This is what I should be saying. He's the one who's unreachable, unattainable. He's Jace Wayland.

"I do care," I protest weakly, tears running down my cheeks. Jace takes one look at them and turns away painfully, his face mirroring my feelings. "I do."

"About yourself," he scoffs.

"I'm truly sorry, Jace. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll explain everything that happened outside the locker room to Coach Herondale – "

"Don't waste your time." Jace's fists clench. "It's too late anyway. College scouts already came."

Oh no.

"What?" I whisper.

He finally raises his head to look at me, and the accusation in them burns me to the core. "Yeah, you heard me. They came, and Coach made me sit out. They didn't see me play."

"But – I didn't – there aren't any more coming?" I manage to squeeze out.

I've royally fucked up. So hard. I've screwed Jace's whole life over.

"No more," he spits with venom. "Not the good ones anyway."

I'm sobbing openly now, and Jace almost looks like he wants to come over and comfort me. "I didn't know," I blubber. "I'm so, so, so sorry."

I hear him take in a shuddering breath, and the knob on the door turns as he puts his hand on it, ready to leave.

_No, no, no. Please. No. I can't lose you. Please don't go._

"You know," he says to the door, not turning around, his voice cracking. "I thought you were different from the others. And you are. You broke my heart."

**Review.**


	23. Chapter 23

**WOW, the response to the last chapter! I can't tell you guys how happy I am. I'm sorry for not replying to all of your wonderful reviews. School has been busy with finals (we get out really really late), but I appreciate every single one of them! **

**Also, there've been requests for longer chapters. I'm not going to combine chapters because time lapses a bit between each chapter, so combining them would make them seem choppy and incomplete. **

**HOWEVER, I will update every week because it's SUMMMERRR :) **

**Note: Watch for language. Angst calls for harsh….words.**

**Chapter Twenty Three**

I blow my nose for the millionth time and toss the discarded tissue into the mountainous stack of waste. Two more boxes sit next to me, and the present box of tissues is disappearing with alarming speed.

"At this rate, your tears and snot can end the drought in Africa," Aline, sitting on the bed next to me, jokes.

I glare at her through watery-eyes. "Not helping."

She narrows her eyes at me. "At least I'm trying. You've been sitting here for the past few hours, sobbing your heart out, and it's starting to freak me out. You've got to talk to me, Clary."

How can I though? How is it even possible to put into words the immensity of the pain I feel for royally fucking up another person's life? Someone who I care deeply for, someone who's done absolutely nothing wrong to me, and yet still stayed by my side and lo – _liked_ me for who I was. Someone who treated me as an equal and looked at me as if I were the world.

I didn't even, for one second, think about the consequences of my actions. Jace loves soccer. It's what he lives on. How could I ruin everything for him? The kind of person I am makes me sick. I'm no better than my dad.

He left us because he could, because he wanted to. I messed with Jace's life because _I _could, just because I wanted to hurt another person.

"Clary?" Aline gently nudges my shoulder. "I can't hear you if you mumble into your hands."

"Why did Jace have to love me? Why me? _Why?"_ I nearly scream at her. "I'm a bitch. I'm – I'm just _me_, goddammit."

The amount of raw pain in my words makes me cringe.

"Oh, sweetheart." She scrambles over and envelopes me in a hug, rocking back and forth as I cry into her shoulder. There's nothing to say, really. Nothing she can say to make it better.

"Why couldn't I have just left Seelie alone?"

…

On Sunday, Mom and Sebastian leave for church, and for the first time in years, they don't force me to attend with them. None of them know why I'm so broken, but I'm grateful they don't pry and understand to keep their distance until I decide to talk.

When lunch rolls around, I'm too spent from crying to pull myself together to make a sandwich. The doorbell rings, but I remain lying face flat on the couch, mind blank, exhausted.

The person begins pounding on the door. Still I don't move. Then the yelling starts, and then I'm leaping out off the couch and flying to the door like I can't open it fast enough.

"Open up, you horseshitting, motherfucking bitch! I know you're in there, and I'm not leaving until you come out."

I fling the door open, panting.

Isabelle Lightwood stands outside, impeccable as ever. Her glossy black hair cascades perfectly over one shoulder, and her hand is perched angrily on one hip as she glares at me. I should be scared because she looks like she wants to stab her six-inch stilettos in my eyes, but I can't find the energy to do so.

"You look like absolute shit," she barks in satisfaction.

I just stare at her.

She peers closer, snapping her hands in my face. "Hello? Anyone home? I feel like I'm speaking to the dead. But then again, I guess you should be dead. I, for one, want you dead."

"Me too," I whisper.

Her eyebrows disappear into her hairline. "_You_ too? What the hell does that even mean?" She throws her hands into the air. "You have no right saying that. You hurt him so badly, and here you are, acting like the victim. You should have stayed away from that party, because all the things he told you? He never wanted you to know. That encounter while he was drunk ruined him. And here you are, standing here looking like shit and pretending to be dead and brokenhearted. Well, you know what? It's all your motherfucking fault."

"When are you going to start telling me things I don't know?"

"I'm not here to tell you things you don't know. You don't deserve to know anything anymore," she snarls. "You deserve to die in the lowest of lows, rotting in a ditch where no one remembers you or cares about you enough to do anything but let you rot."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" I say, straightening slowly. She easily towers over me, but in this moment, all the grief and misery I've been feeling are transformed into anger. Jace has the right, but s_he_ has no right saying these words to me. None at all.

She doesn't know who I am, what I've been through, my family background. She doesn't know jack shit about me.

"Get out of my sight, Isabelle," I growl, hand on the door, ready to slam it shut in her face.

"He thought you were something special, you know," she says suddenly. "He thought you were real."

Low blow, Lightwood. Low blow.

"I am real," I say indignantly, but it fails when my voice cracks. If I can't even convince myself, how can I expect her to believe me?

Isabelle barks with sharp laughter. "Real? God, you are just as fake as the rest of them. Even more so. You know what people call girls like you?" She leans in close, so that her black eyes bore holes into me. "Bitches."

I shove her, hard, but she doesn't even totter on her six-inch heels. Who was she to yell at me about being a bitch? _She _was the epitome of a bitch.

"Lay off of me."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm not laying off of anyone, You hurt him."

I force laughter, knowing she's correct. But I can't stand to have her push me around like this. Words begin spewing out of my mouth faster than I can stop them. Words that mean nothing, words that are lies, words that hurt me even though I'm the one shouting them. "_I _hurt him? Bitch, please. I wasn't even his girlfriend. I didn't give him a good lay. We didn't even swap spit, for God's sake. I was nothing compared to Seelie and Kaelie and the other sluts."

I want to scream at myself. Why am I screaming these lies? I'm hurting Jace even more, even though he can't hear me.

I dig my nails into my palms, hard enough to break skin. _Hurt me,_ I want to be Isabelle. _Please, do something to me. _

She stares at me for a long time. The silence stretches so long it makes me squirm. "Is that really what you think of him?" Her voice is low. Dangerous. "Is it?"

"No," I whisper, lacking all the bravado spurring my words only seconds earlier.

She towers over me. "You know why he didn't treat you like the others? Because he thought you were worth waiting for. He thought you were different, and he didn't want to ruin it with you. He was afraid. Of you, but mainly of himself, of how he might hurt you, and he didn't want that. I think he'd rather hurt himself than hurt you."

I can't think, can't breathe, can't speak. I can only stand there idiotically, letting Isabelle's words sink in. And then it starts to hurt.

From deep inside of me, like her words have hooks and are clawing their way through my body, each step they take sending jabs of searing pain everywhere in my body. My arms, my neck, my legs, but mostly, my heart. I place a hand on my stomach.

"It takes a lot for him to open up to people, you know," Isabelle continues without mercy. "No, wait. You don't know. How could you? Me and Alec, though, we know. We've been with him since he was adopted into our family, and it still took years until he finally started to trust and confide in us. I don't know what his parents did to him, but it must have been screwed up, because he has major trust issues. He thinks people are going to walk out on him. That's why he doesn't like relationships and prefers summer flings. Because they're sort and simple. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing attached."

Her words have me gripped in an unrelenting grasp. I gasp for air. "He told me stuff. Soccer stuff."

"Because he trusted you. And you shitted on that trust."

"Stop it," I whisper. It kills me to sound so weak in front of her.

"Why?" Isabelle snarls, and her eyes radiate ice and daggers. "I want you to hurt. I want you to suffer like he's suffering. You screwed up his life, Clary. He can't even go to his dream college anymore, after all that hard work."

"Cornell? Next year?" I try weakly.

"Cornell doesn't scout here. I think that although he dreamed about it, he knew all along that USC was it. But you crushed that dream for him too. Great job, I must say. Killing two birds with one stone. And next year? That's too late and risky, but you knew that already, didn't you."

Just what I needed. Another reminder of how I had fucked up so bad. My whole dam of pent up tears breaks and the tears roll down my cheeks, darkening my shirt. The wounds her words left hurt so damn much.

So damn much.

Isabelle's eyes glint with triumph at my agony. "You were the first one he fell for, Clary. His first. He'll never forget you, no matter how hard he tries."

And even though I wait a full minute after she's gone, she can probably still hear my shrieks from her slick sports car.

**Teenage angst. Hurts like a bitch.**

**Please don't kill me?**

**Review.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Note: St. Xavier is the high school Clary attends.**

**Thank you to the reviewer who gave me the phrase: "life is short, so be a bitch when you have a reason." I can't remember who you are, and I tried looking through my messages and reviews but I couldn't find you. **** Message me and I'll credit you in the next chapter!**

**Chapter Twenty Four**

"Congrats, Clary!"

"You were amazing."

"I loved your dress!"

"You're such a great actress!"

I nod my head, barely hearing the praise as Aline and I walk down the hall to our locker. Faces blur, voices blend together. It's some sick turn of events.

The success of the play has catapulted me to celebrity status. People who used to scoff at me, who never spoke to me, or never even knew I existed are calling out to me, wanting to offer their congratulations.

Like I even want them. The last thing I want right now is attention. I want to crawl into a dark hole and stay buried inside. I want to release this pent up anger by kicking something hard with my foot, maybe a ball. I want to kick a soccer ball with Jac – _no._

With chase – that's what I mean. With my brother Sebastian _chasing_ behind me.

"You're gonna seem like a bitch," Aline murmurs into my ear, bringing me back to the real world. "Although, life is short, so I guess you should be a bitch when you have a reason."

I snort. "Some sort of inspirational quote you have there."

She grins, glad to see a bit of my old spark back. "I try."

I almost find myself grinning back, when the halls suddenly fill with blasts of shouts. Simultaneously, Aline and I both stop breathing.

_Oh, no._

She grabs my arm tightly. "It's okay. Don't worry. Don't turn around."

But of course I do. How can I not, when I know _he's_ walking a mere ten feet away, breathing the same air as me, sharing the same hallway, the same space?

My eyes cut to him immediately. He's trailing along in the back, quiet and sullen, no longer the rowdy ringleader. His eyes flicker back and forth, hard and unforgivingly. It's not until the loud clank of my books hitting the ground that I realize I've been standing there gazing at him with a pathetic lovestruck, yearning look on my face.

"…and look who it is!" One of the soccer guys grins coldly, now that I've caught all of their attention. "Clarissa fucking Fray, bitchiest slut at St. Xavier!"

The temperature of the hall literally drops twenty degrees as hell freezes over.

"What was it like, screwing over the Golden Boy and ruining his life?" He snickers without humor as he bends down to get into my face. "Screwing him, literally. Did you have fun while doing it?"

_Breathe. _

_ In, out. In, out._

"What kind of a sick person are you? Who _does_ that to someone?"

I clutch blindly for Aline, who grasps my hand tightly. She takes a step forward, pushing him out of the way. "Get out, asshole. You don't know half of it."

He ignores her like she's a fly on the wall. "Do you have a heart of ice or something?" He shoots at me. Every word he says is another knife that stabs me, making me cringe. "Do you even have a heart at all?"

"Cut it out."

The voice is soft, not much more than a hoarse whisper, but we all hear it as clear as day. Everyone holds in a collective breath as the guy in front of me slowly turns around.

"Come again?"

"I said," Jace says, quietly but firmly, "Cut it out."

"What the hell, man? She fucked you over. She _deserves_ this."

Jace's eyes slowly flicker up to meet mine. After a moment of eternity, he turns his head painfully away like he can't stand seeing me this pathetic and walks briskly down the hall in the opposite direction.

His pack quickly chases after him.

The guy in front of me narrows his eyes at me in contempt and opens his mouth.

"Just let it go for now, Stephen," Alec grumbles as he brushes past, grabbing his shoulder and jerking him away. "He'll come around and then we'll give her a piece of our minds."

They barely walk five steps away before Aline beelines for the bathroom, pulling me in after her. She shoos the startled girls out before locking the door and coming back to sit beside me on the sink.

"Well, that was great," she says.

"Shut it." I try to pack as much venom into my voice as possible, but all that comes out is a sorry whimper. "And go away. Who even asked you to be here anyway?"

"You did, when you practically groped my boob in fear when Stephen stormed up to you. Since when did you let people walk all over you like that?"

I shake my head, unable to respond. There's not much of an excuse for my behavior. Standing up, fighting others, and creating spiteful insults all take too much energy. Right now, I just can't find the strength to do that.

And maybe this is karma. Karma's biting me in the ass for being a bitch all those times before.

"Just let it go, will you?" I try dejectedly one last time. "I can't deal with it right now."

Aline plants her hands on her hips, scowling. "I've let it go for the past weekend already. You can't use the same reason so many times until it expires. Look," she squats in front of me and takes my hands gently. "You screwed up, Clary. You know you did, I know you did, everyone knows you did. But you need to do something about that. You need to try fixing this problem and try making things right."

Can I, though? It started with one tiny mistake that created a gaping, plunging canyon with an interminable abyss that keeps stretching wider and wider, never ceasing in its pursuit of destruction.

But no, it wasn't a mistake, was it?

I squeeze my eyes shut as the memories from that day flood into my mind. Meeting Jace before the game wasn't a mistake. It was intentional on my part, completely fueled by malice and intent to do harm to Seelie. And the casualty happened to be someone who I value more than anyone else in the world.

I guess the first step is to own up to my actions. What happened is completely, one hundred percent my fault. I can't blame Seelie for what I did.

It's time for me to get my head out of my ass and patch the repairs as best as I can. I owe it to Jace, and to myself, to straighten things out, to correct wrongdoings, and maybe, if I can, salvage Jace's soccer dreams. Ruining someone else's chance for success won't be the defining moment of my life. I need to do something about it.

I take a deep breath to clear my head. "It's not over until I say it is?" It sounds more like a question.

"Damn right it isn't," Aline replies.

…

"You can do this." Aline grabs onto my shoulders and forces me to look her in the eye. "You _can._"

"I can," I repeat slowly after her. She gives my hand, which currently strangles my phone so hard it might break in two, a wary glance, and I make my fingers to loosen their death grip. "I can."

She taps the call button open and, hand trembling, I punch in ten numbers for the fourth time, finally getting it right.

"You sure you want to do this?" Aline asks, one last time as my finger hovers over the green call button, poised to press down. Both of us understand she's only offering it because it's the easy way out.

"I'm sure," I say with false confidence, and press the button.

_Ring._

_ Ring._

_ Riiiiiing._

There's a click at the other end of the line, an inhale of a breath, and then:

"Hello, this is Cornell's Office of Admissions. How may I help you?"

**And Clary finally grows up.**

**I understand this is extremely unlikely in real life, but please pretend it works!**

**Review!**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five**

Blue shirt, gold belt, blue jeans. Surrounded by hundreds of other students all decked in school colors, I blend easily into the crowd, invisible. Just like always.

My hair is swept into a high ponytail, every strand pulled away from my face, as I scan the crowd with my eyes. Hyperactive students, bouncing on their heels in excitement, file into the stadium, whose volume already stands at a feverish pitch. It's the last and the most anticipated game of the season – St. Xavier verses its nemesis, Coldwater.

After what seem to be hours, my eyes finally land on the person I've been searching for. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

Khaki pants, flowery blouse, black-rimmed glasses settled smoothly on her nose, she stands to the side of the line. A notepad is clutched in her hand.

I push my way through the crowd to the woman, sticking my hand out when I reach her. "Hi! I'm Clarissa Fray, the girl who called you?"

The woman's eyes light up in recognition. "Oh, yes! Clarissa. I'm Imogen, the sports recruiter for Cornell. It's a pleasure to meet you."

I smile up at Imogen, who seems to be in her early forties. "The pleasure's all mine," I say sweetly, like I've heard the phrase on television. "Come on, I've saved us seats in the front."

We squeeze through the masses of bodies, finally making it to the front of the field. The seats I've chosen are three from the bottom and in full view of the entire field.

"Great spot," Imogen comments.

I nod awkwardly, as if I hadn't spent the last hour trying out every single chair in the stadium, searching for the perfect one. We make small chitchat until the whistle blows, and the players begin to jog in through the sides of the stadium. When Jace streams through the doors, the crowd, especially the girls behind us, go wild, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Jace turns, tosses a brief winsome smile at the crowd, before jostling another player as everyone bent into a huddle.

"Is that him?" Imogen has to bend close to be heard.

I can't help but feel a surge of pride as I answer, "The one and only Jace Wayland."

When the game begins, I finally realize exactly why girls fall head over heels in love with Jace Wayland without even knowing him. He literally commands the soccer field.

It's a tight game between the two evenly matched teams, but Jace easily stands out as the star player. He kicks ass. He flies across the field, assisting, passing, dribbling. His feet are butterfly wings, darting here, there, in front, behind, hooking the ball and easily deceiving the Coldwater players.

Most of all, he is so mouthwatering gorgeous my eyes hurts to even look at him. Instead, I try to focus on Alec and the other players, but on their own volition, my traitorous eyes find themselves drifting back to Jace every five seconds.

And when he drives the ball into the goal with a flying corner kick, I completely forget who I am and jump up screaming without abandon.

Like another crazy fangirl falling in love with him.

…

He's sprinting this way, the ball in his possession when suddenly he stumbles. The ball gets stolen, and the whole mass of players streak down the field.

Coach Herondale screams bloody murder at Jace, the crowd groans, and even Imogen stifles a disappointed sigh. But Jace doesn't react. He's standing there, stiffly on the field, his expression morphing from masks of shock, disbelief, bitterness, anger, and finally settling on one that is wary and cold.

Because he's looking directly at me.

My heart's already been clawed through, but the holes in it hurt from seeing him like this around me. I miss how we used to be. How he used to look at me.

He stands there frozen until Herondale's holler register and he sprints off without another glance.

I know what he must be thinking: _Who does she think she is? Does she really believe that I'll just forgive her just because she finally got off her lazy ass and came to my game?_

I'm not here to get him back, though. I'm not even here hoping for his forgiveness. I'm here to give him what he's always deserved.

A scholarship to Cornell.

It's alright if he's still angry. Or even if he never wants to talk to me again. Everything is fine as long as his dream is guaranteed, because I know that he'll excel at it. Maybe sometime in the future, he'll be the next Lionel Messi.

"Are you in a fight with your boyfriend?" Imogen asks, her eyebrows raised in suspicion.

"No," I cringe. "And he's not my boyfriend."

"Oh, sorry," she apologizes, scribbling something about Jace's excellent tactics on a notepad. "It's just that the look he gave you made it seem like you guys had history."

Damn right we had history. We had the best history anyone could have had, until I'd screwed it all up. "Well, I messed up."

Imogen glances at me. "And this is your way of repaying him?"

"What? No!"

_Shit._

I try to backpedal. "It's not like that, I promise!" I panic. "Jace deserves this. I'm not doing – "

She smiles softly. "Don't worry. I'm glad you called me, or else we would have missed this talented player. I'm thinking that maybe Cornell should start scouting here." She tilts her notepad a bit, acting like it's just another random gesture, but I know it's so I can see what she wrote.

And I almost scream with joy.

Full scholarship.

…

The sky's dark by the time the last of the crowd drifts away after congratulating our players. It's the final game of the season, and people linger with their goodbyes until next year. While the players clap each other on the back and stretch in the grass, Imogen and I exchange goodbyes, and I thank her countlessly for coming.

I start towards the exit, keeping my eyes on Imogen as she walks onto the field. Instead of exiting, though, I slink into the shadows.

Imogen stops Coach Herondale as he passes her, and I watch as the Coach steps back in surprise, laughs nervously, and then yells Jace's name. My boy jogs over easily, hair wet from the water doused on it. In that moment, with the sky dusky and dark, the stadium empty, the sweaty, dirty soccer players goofing around on the sidelines, I miss him so, so much. My feet itch to step out of the shadows, my fingers to catch the droplets falling from his hair.

Jace jerks backwards as Coach introduces them, but a moment later, he regains his composure, sticking out his hand, a brilliant, easy smile spreading across his face. The first genuine smile I've seen since our incident. He's nodding as they all disappear into the locker room.

I watch them until their forms are no longer visible, and then I slip away.

And for the first time in a long time, I actually feel happy myself.

**Story's wrapping up! Only 3 more chapters left.**

**Review! :)**


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